One Thousand Years More
by LittleBlueNayru
Summary: Putting politics aside, two nations try to find companionship to fill the holes left by their loneliness.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairing: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

10/31/2015: This is intended to become a full-length story based off the same AU as my earlier oneshot, _One Thousand Years_. I don't really know how this will go, so strap in tight and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

One Thousand Years More, Chapter One

* * *

"Big Brother."

"No."

"Big Brother."

"I'm not saying it."

"Big Brother."

"I refuse to say it."

"Big Brother…"

This time Iceland decided not to respond to his … big brother's… prodding, even knowing that Norway was genuinely enjoying himself behind his blank face. The rather constant insistence on calling Norway "big brother" seemed to consume his fellow Northern Europeans this morning… because they apparently had nothing better to do. Regardless of what they said, Iceland was actually an adult now, and he could actually adult rather well, as evidenced by his being the only one packing his clothing into his suitcase in an orderly pile of folded pants and shirts. When Iceland failed to respond to Norway's latest attempts, Norway got a move on his own things, grimacing as Denmark decided to sing in the shower.

...Screw this.

Iceland picked up his speed packing, zipped up his suitcase, and vacated the joined hotel rooms as fast as he could. Sweden, Finland, and Sealand were already having breakfast in the hotel lobby; he would just spend some time with them. He grabbed random helpings from the buffet and quickly took the last seat at the table before any more of his relatives could join in. All three of them noticed Iceland's irritation, but it was Sweden who voiced his concern. "What happened?"

"Denmark," Iceland groused, and that was all the explanation they needed. Well, for two of them, at least.

"Pillow fight?" Sealand guessed.

"No."

"Washcloth on your face?"

"Warmer…"

"…. Singing in the shower?" Sealand's face twisted in annoyance at Iceland's nod. Finland looked put out, while Sweden merely offered a roll of his eyes. Iceland, having nothing more to say, dug into his food.

Finland engaged Sweden in some plans they had for hiking in the next week, as well as arrangements for another Nordic get-together soon. The timetable crept towards May, and Iceland decided he would rather not hear any more near-birthday plans. Stuff like that was stupid. Like America's flamboyant celebrations.

…Hm.

He occupied himself with the other hotel guests in the buffet room. Surprisingly, Russia was there, but even more surprisingly, he seemed to be nursing a hangover and an overlarge bottle of vodka. The only other nation in the lobby was Mexico, and he gave the Slavic nation an irritated glare and a wide berth while eating. Iceland had to admire Mexico and the humans around him for not simply surrendering that half of the dining room to Russia's foul mood. Most humans looked alarmed or at the very least wary, but they also did not move to safer ground. Well, that was certainly an improvement over past years...

"Hey guys!"

Every country cringed at Denmark's yell. Hell, Russia actually curled in tighter on himself, willing his headache to fuck off. The noisiest Nordic sat himself at their table with a large _thump_ while Norway smoothly slid in a chair next to Iceland, each of them armed with a plate of food themselves. Thankfully, the Dane seemed so famished he couldn't even ruin the odd family breakfast, and Iceland breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he would actually get some peace and quiet before the final day of the World Meeting.

* * *

Ever since the fiasco at the first World Meeting in 2000, the list of banned materials and equipment in the meetings had easily quadrupled. Even Canada managed to get _maple syrup_ added to the list, and it was generally regarded as an unspoken rule to not bring up the reasons as to why. Briefcases were inspected meticulously and a rule was put in place stating that during World Meetings, all nations had to partake of the lunches offered on conference grounds, rather than letting loose in whatever poor city had the bad luck to host them.

It served as a never-ending conundrum to the human leaders of countries that the nations, some of them four millennia old, could behave so childishly.

The last day of talks saw the countries gathered at the tables, benches, and podiums looking incredibly bored or annoyed. By this point the only topics on the agenda were finalizing certain matters and tabling others, which meant a lot of votes, which meant no slacking off. Denmark looked peeved that his beer had been confiscated, and Norway was getting his jollies goading the now-booze-less nation. Poland kept reading items on the agenda and calling for votes at lightning speed, and Iceland wasn't sure whether or not to be annoyed with his impatience or glad that at least the strange nation was sympathetic to everyone wanting to leave.

Somehow, the votes still took an hour to gather, partially because of some objections no one cared about but mainly because of the corner Russia had been sitting in, which seemed to have been consumed by his hangover-induced aura of malevolence. Even Norway was raising eyebrows at the spectacle. It was well known that Russia was no lightweight, but many countries decided that in this matter, bliss in ignorance outmatched any humor they could get from knowing the circumstances of this once-in-a-century hangover.

"Okay, are we done here? Then, like, get out of my house," Poland snapped. As the other countries began packing their briefcases, the host nation stomped up to Russia and started berating him to leave.

Denmark snickered at the sight. "Hang back, you guys, I wanna see this!" he chuckled.

Norway grabbed Denmark by the ear and tugged, eliciting a yelp. "You're annoying. I want to leave."

However, watching Poland's rising ire had Finland concerned. "Maybe we should stick around in case Russia… Sweden?" Finland glanced up at the stoic nation, who merely nodded his understanding. If Russia was drunk and chose to pick a fight with Poland, Sweden and Denmark would be the ones enlisted to break it up. Sealand, knowing that they wouldn't leave until Russia did, began fidgeting in annoyance.

"Marmite freak-!"

"Wine bastard!"

The Nordics' attention was diverted to the ubiquitous fighting of England and France, who had – to their credit – very _nearly_ made it out the doors of the meeting room before dissolving into a flurry of fists. Off to their right, Canada looked concerned, while America wore the most agitated look they had ever seen. Before Canada could protest, his twin sister had collected her own briefcase off the desk and smacked the older nations over the head with it.

Everyone else in the room seemed alarmed at the violence. "Seriously?" she groused. "No one gives a shit about your cheese." She folded her hands on her hips and glared down at the two dangerously. "We have a little over an hour to get to the airport, and some of us need to make a connecting flight at Heathrow, so you two want to _not_ give security a reason to bust our asses? C'mon," she ordered, and marched out of the room in a huff without so much as a backward glance.

England and France looked perturbed that America had made a rational point, and left without much fuss, guided by Canada. Iceland watched with fascination, very glad that from his vantage point no one could see his face.

For almost two centuries, America had adopted the dress and mannerisms of a man. Apparently, she'd started putting less and less effort into that persona around World War Two, and by the middle of the 1990s she had stopped completely. Russia had turned funny shades at that momentous World Meeting, when she had chosen to adopt a female business suit rather than the male ones she had continued to effect long after her gender became the worst kept secret in the world. Nothing had changed, for the most part, except some countries' mannerisms towards her and the number of dates she was asked on, the latter of which served as a staple gossip topic.

"-ask her out for a drink sometime," Iceland redirected his thoughts toward the present just in time to hear this remark, which earned Denmark another tug on the ear from Norway. The island nation rolled his eyes. Trust Denmark to prove his statement true…

"W-well… we also have flights to take, so we should head to the airport as well," Finland reminded them. The Nordics took one last look in the direction of Russia and Poland… and saw Russia enveloping a squawking Poland in a tight hug. Well… it didn't look like he was intentionally strangling Poland, but the smaller man started screeching about partitions, so the six remaining nations decided to high-tail it out of there before things got even weirder.

* * *

Thankfully, Warsaw Chopin Airport remained relatively free of crowds by the time the Nordics arrived. Despite leaving only a minute or two after Marmite Freak, Wine Bastard, and the North American Twins, the group of six failed to spot them and headed on their way. Flights to Copenhagen, Oslo, and Stockholm would be direct and take very little time at all, but Iceland also had to make a connecting flight at Heathrow, or, as Iceland liked to call it, "England's Gate to Hell."

"Will you be all right flying on your own?"

"Don't forget to constantly watch the boards for any flight changes!"

"Just call us if something goes wrong, okay Icey?!"

Iceland repressed the complaints threatening to boil. Norway's teasing in the hotel room he could handle. This nagging just completely insulted him. He wasn't Sealand, for crying out loud. But all he said, in a sharp tone that would hopefully convey his irritation, was, "I got here fine on my own. Just like I have to every other World Meeting before now."

Finland slightly winced, Sweden nodded, and even Denmark had the decency to blink, but Norway just ruffled his hair. "I still want you to call me when you get home, Ice."

All right, enough was enough. Iceland decided that he'd seen plenty of his Nordic companions for a few months. He swatted Norway's hand away with a scowl, grabbed his suitcase and carry-on, and headed for his gate, leaving the rest of them to mutter awkward, half-apologetic farewells in his wake.

By the time he traversed the airport and checked in for his flight, he felt twinges of guilt at leaving his brother and friends so rudely. But their treatment of him continued to grate, and Iceland scowled again. He was stuck waiting another twenty minutes stewing in his conflicted emotions with nothing to distract him.

Just as he resigned himself to the wait, he heard a laugh ring across the seating area. It took him only a moment to find the source. Canada had his head bent over his phone, and America was laughing at something he was showing her.

Iceland sat across the entire gate waiting area from them. Easily four rows of chairs separated him from them. Most of those chairs were unoccupied, but Iceland felt like a cement wall stood in between him and them. The North American twins had their squabbles, and even a serious fight in 1812, but as far as nations were concerned these twins had lucked out. As far as Iceland knew, only the Italy siblings had a relationship as solid as them. Their profiles mirrored each other, leaned towards the other, firm in the knowledge that each would hold the other up through thick and thin.

England and France sat next to them, but even from this distance Iceland saw that they shared no such bond. While their history tied them together in their complicated love-hate way, the two Europeans did not share the same unguarded trust and innocent, affectionate friendship that their former charges did. France and England conversed between the two of them, rather than interrupt the twins' bonding time.

Iceland wanted to go over and sit with them. The four would welcome him, he knew, because nations rarely got to see each other anymore outside of meetings, and the kinship of a similar existence could outweigh political differences in the grey moments of life such as these. He could sit with them, and they would make small talk, politely enjoying each others' company. But he couldn't stop staring at the invisible cement wall, erected by the unqualified bond Canada and America had.

His gaze lingered on America's outline. Memories and feelings from one thousand years ago drudged themselves up. He tried very hard not to think about them, for so many reasons. They didn't matter now, they were no longer relevant. Recalling them would only bring trouble and conflicting emotions Iceland would rather live without. Thinking about them was more trouble than it was worth.

But in the aftermath of his own messy parting with his family, Iceland couldn't help but think of one person that might have been part of it: the southern sibling leaning against her northern neighbor. Though the Vikings had colonized Vinland for a time, Iceland took it upon himself to travel further south, and he found an infant girl in the care of the natives, and taught her about survival, and fighting, and the pains and pleasures of being part of a family…

A younger sibling he could not, for fear of the backlash, reveal to anyone that he had helped raise. Iceland sometimes wondered, at times like these, if America even remembered him from a thousand years before. ...Oh, _that_ was it. _That_ was the heart of this ugliness festering inside of him... He had barricaded himself from his Nordic family, and time itself had risen that cement wall between him and America higher and higher, and as usual the girl was oblivious to the things around her… and she was physically older looking than her… "big brother" now, too...

Iceland saw her jump up as their gate was called for departure, and as he rose slowly and followed them in line to board, he willed himself to keep his face and steel mask at least until he could find solace in his seat near the back of the plane. Then, maybe, he could give over to his moping and for once, act like the child the rest of the Nordics treated him as.

* * *

End

* * *

1) AU = The Vikings briefly raised Vinland/Canada, and in addition, Iceland traveled further south on his own and found an infant America.

2) While I do love me a good "X Nation is opposite gender and hiding it" fic, that is not the focus of this one and you will hear very little mention of it.

3) In human years, Iceland is 17 going on 18. He's been managing his own affairs for years and conducts business well, but his relatively younger age compared to the other Nordics, combined with the fact that he is still a teen who has difficulty expressing himself, make communication rather rocky at times.

4) No, you don't want to know what Canada did to get maple syrup banned from meetings.

5) Nor do you want to know why Russia has a hangover, or the amount/proof of alcohol he had to consume to get it.

Happy Halloween~!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

Pairing: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

11/03/2015: This is, in fact a multichapter story from an author known for her oneshots. My NaNoWriMo novel isn't cooperating with me, so I added more to this story earlier than I thought I could.

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One Thousand Years More: Chapter Two

* * *

He sat near the rear of the plane, and shifted uncomfortably in his coach class seat. Since the flight had several empty seats, Iceland's row remained mercifully empty, allowing him to take the aisle seat and brood as he watched the other nations further up the plane. A thin curtain separated the first class section from coach, but the other four nations had also purchased aisle seats (they clearly could not come to any sort of non-lethal agreement about who would sit where when sharing a row). America bobbed her head to some music, Canada and England buried their noses in some books, and France flirted with the flight attendants every time they passed his seat.

Even absorbed in their own doings, they still occasionally lapsed into conversation, and these conversations usually ended when France and England set each other off. But anyone could see that these four were close, for all their tumultuous history, and Iceland just had to sit in the back of the plane and attempt to distract himself with anything other than the show he subjected himself to watching. He looked out the windows and checked the flight map again. Still over Germany. Just like they had been when he'd checked a minute ago.

Fantastic.

Fuck, he needed to think of things to do or the plane ride would drive him insane. He could ruminate on his various relationships with his brother countries, but he didn't want to compound his misery. He could try to sort out his current emotions towards the other nations on the plane, but that would require confronting them, and he doubted his ability to do so when he was already having such a turmoil. He could try to order some food from the flight attendants, but they would only be overpriced snacks – the trip was too short to offer full meals. Iceland regretted not adding some music or books or games to his phone like the other countries did, because that left him with window watching. Still, it beat stewing around, so he scooted over to the window seat, propped his chin on his open palm, and stared at the horizon.

* * *

Staring out the window actually managed to calm him down rather well. The scenery below him, with all its details blurred and impersonal, smoothed away the thoughts gnawing at his mind for a few merciful hours. It had been rather impressive to fly out over the English Channel and catch a glimpse of the Dover Cliffs just as the sun began to set, and something else started to poke urgently at Iceland's mind. For the life of him, he could not figure it out…

The thought stayed with him as the plane landed in the fading light, Heathrow all busy with high volumes of domestic and international air traffic. Iceland sighed as he heard England yell at France over some slight from World War II and wondered how long the secret of the personifications would last if the Hundred Years' War was brought up. Canada seemed to have the same thought in mind because he actually covered both their mouths with his hands and a thin, stressed smile.

The landing took very little time, as did taxiing off the runway and reaching the proper gate. The passengers quickly grabbed their carry-on bags and disembarked, wishing to be out of their uncomfortable seats as soon as possible.

Iceland managed to catch up with the other nations at the edge of the gate and lingered for a moment to figure out where each one was going. Maybe he'd have a companion, and wouldn't have to be alone?

"So are you gonna just bum a night at Iggy's, France?" America snickered. "Good luck explaining a collapsed townhouse to the police tomorrow."

France looked considerably worse for wear than when he had boarded the plane -no doubt England was responsible for part of his scuffed appearance- and scoffed at America's question. "Mon Dieu, this British brute doesn't know the meaning of the word hospitality, and I would not accept any if he offered! Did you 'ear what he said about my escargot? Non, I am taking the next flight out of his 'orrid country!" His accent became increasingly pronounced, and both North American twins had to step in to keep the two from going at each other. Thankfully, once they had been restrained, neither European country felt like carrying on the row in the airport. England huffed and promptly exited, elated that he had no more flights to take. France stormed off shortly after, ranting about how he would even take the Tunnel if it meant getting out of England faster. Canada and America, both relieved to have their former caretakers off their hands, just shared a suffering grin.

"Well, shall we get going?"

"Yeah!" America practically bounced. Then her blue eyes swiveled over to their spectator. "Oh, hey Iceland! Sorry about England and France. Nice of you to wait though."

Iceland tried not to flush too severely that his eavesdropping had not gone unnoticed and merely nodded. Canada waved politely, muttering a couple of apologies himself. America drowned them out as she hefted her carry-on on her shoulder. "Well, let's go!" She started off for the gates that would lead them to their destinations, legs swinging with long strides. Canada hurried to catch up and easily kept pace with her, and Iceland settled for shuffling half a step behind them.

"So what's been up with you?" America asked, and it wasn't until she turned back with a raised eyebrow that Iceland realized she meant him. He started and once again tried not to flush or stutter as he thought of an answer. What had he been up to lately, why did his memory seem to go out the window right as she asked?! "I've been spending time with Norway and the others more. But I mostly spend time by myself at home."

She pursed her lips. "That doesn't sound like too much fun… but whatever floats yer boat, I guess," she finished with a shrug. Iceland wanted to both agree and disagree with her. He liked solitude and quiet and enjoying his country in peace whenever he wasn't kept in the capital by official duties and so yes, his alone time could be fun. On the other hand, he found that he couldn't find very many friends, human or nation, that shared his particular interests, and so it was often a self-imposed isolation.

"Enjoying the outside is always nice." Canada interjected. "Especially when it's good weather for camping, and you can spend weeks outside…"

"Hey, we haven't gone camping together in years, bro!" the ever-excitable America pounced on the subject. "Why don't we do that soon? See the Aurora and stuff?"

"America, it's January…" Canada protested feebly, but America seemed to have latched onto the idea and rounded on Iceland. "How about it? What do you think of camping, Ice? Would you be on board with that?"

Well, this conversation certainly had taken an interesting turn… Iceland saw Canada blink in surprise and thought over it. He himself took great pride in his unique natural features and world-famous scenery, and loved circling his island to take it all in. He had been to Canada many times before and knew that the great undeveloped swaths of Canada's land offered vistas just as rich as his own. And… it would be nice to get out and simply enjoy the company of other nations. There was nothing wrong with his brothers.. even if he would only admit that deep down to himself.. But limiting his interactions to just them seemed unpalatable at best. Norway studied arcane arts with England and Romania and a few other nations, Denmark went out drinking with Germany and Prussia and even Russia on occasion, and Finland got along well with most of Europe. It couldn't hurt for him to have another circle of nations to spend time with, right?

The cement wall started to crumble.

So he nodded slowly. "That sounds fun."

America beamed, and Canada smiled. "This is so cool! We'll have to email each other to get plans going ASAP! First thing when I get home I'm on it!"

"You're going to collapse from jet lag first thing when you get home," Canada teased.

America looked affronted. "Am not!"

Iceland gave a small smile. The antics of the twins amused him even as he felt the cement wall building between them again. And while the depressing thought that the wall would never really disappear insisted on eating at him, Iceland decided that this time, he was going to focus on this camping trip America proposed. The cement might continue to pile, but he might just have a wrecking ball to keep it in its place.

* * *

Canada bid the two farewell and headed off to his flight to Ottawa once they had reached the assemblage of gates for their flight. America refused to let him go without a bone-crushing hug and an exuberant goodbye wave. She then turned to Iceland, once again lingering at the fringe, and offered a fist bump. "Well, this is where you and I part ways," she had said.

He had fist bumped back, slightly bemused. Locating his flight was not hard, so he took a minute before he headed off to examine America. She stared at the board, scanning for her D.C. flight, and then frowned. Iceland followed her eyes and discovered the problem; bad weather over D.C. meant her flight had been delayed. Iceland debated staying to make sure she didn't end up needing any assistance, but reminded himself that as a world superpower, she had dealt with far more serious things than a layover. Worried that his hovering would put her off the whole camping trip idea, he gave her another small wave and a word of encouragement and headed off to his own gate.

Therefore, it was understandable that he practically jumped in surprise half an hour later, when America suddenly plopped down in the seat next to him. "A-America?"

She nursed a rather large cup of cocoa, and Iceland raised his eyebrow at the equally large coffee in her other hand. Now that he looked closer, she seemed to have suddenly come down with sniffles. A cold?

Her voice was somewhat stuffy when she replied. "The blizzard over the eastern seaboard basically exploded," she groused. "Basically all of the flights to D.C. have been delayed until tomorrow or cancelled altogether. And I sure as hell am not spending a night lying on the floor of this airport or calling Nag King England back to pick me up. So… I'm gonna detour to your pad and catch a ride home there!" she finished, smiling. Iceland noticed the smile wasn't as bright as before.

"If… if you want, I have a guest room.." Iceland struggled to pull the offer from his head to his mouth, not wanting to think about how badly he might be blushing. America smiled a little more and waved that off. "That's really nice of you, Iceland, but the weather reports say the worst is going to blow through soon. Just a freak blizzard is all, it'll be over soon. I really just need to sleep on the flights to get my strength back. But it is nice of you to offer. If there are empty spaces in your row can I sit with you?"

Without giving it a moment's thought, Iceland nodded. America grinned madly. "Great!" The next second, however, a surprise coughing fit had her giving him an apologetic grin, and she took a gratifying sip of her cocoa.

It wasn't long before the Reykjavik flight began to board, and the two nations shuffled on in silence. America took the middle seat and Iceland took the aisle. America stowed her bag beneath her seat and Iceland stored his in the overhead panels. America kept a firm grip on both of her beverages and Iceland kept a firm grip on both of his armrests. They sat together silently as the plane took off and reached cruising altitude, and a flight attendant provided America with a warm blanket.

She downed some cold medicine with a grimace and flashed Iceland another brilliant smile. "Can ya make sure I wake up before we land, dude?"

"Yeah," he nodded, giving her a solemn look. The cement walls had been creeping again, and his earlier confidence, like his energy, seemed to have momentarily receded.

"Thanks!" she smiled. It didn't take her long to nod off.

Iceland sat in silence, thoughts of ancient history filling his head as he occasionally glanced at the nation next to him. At one point not long after America had fallen asleep, the thought occurred to him that he should let her borrow one of his famous sweaters so she wouldn't be cold once she got home. However, that thought only fueled his imagination of America actually wearing his sweater, and he turned redder than a tomato for a solid half hour.

The two nations, temperaments temporarily reversed, sailed smoothly over the Atlantic ocean and into the quiet night.

* * *

End Chapter Two

* * *

1) The warm nation is chilly and the chilly nation is burning up, did ya see what I did there I'm so clever.

2) Writing fluctuating emotions is really hard, especially since Iceland is so hard to read. The Wiki page and the episodes with Nordics are a big help. On a similar note, the direction I'm taking Iceland's character is mostly Hetalia but also some sprinkles of Scandinavia and the World's Iceland, especially a penchant for "extreme" sports.

3) I'm kind of worried that Iceland seems like a default brooder, but I'm also trying to show that it's more his youth and his loneliness than his real personality. And I really hope I'm not butchering him for the sake of the Icelandic visitor/s viewing this story...

4) Camping trip! I'm not a big camper myself but I can appreciate a nice outdoors vacation.

5) "Lopapeysa!" Seriously, though, I've read about how warm and water-resistant they are and I really want one now.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

11/06/2015: Well, this has officially become easier to write than my actual NaNoWriMo project. So, happy Friday to all of you reading this. Thank you, Guest, for the nice Chapter 2 review. I think you're exaggerating the quality of writing here, but still, I'm blushing. Also, just knowing that some people from Iceland are reading this is intimidating, so I hope I'm writing your country to your satisfaction. I hope I do you proud.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Three

* * *

At some point during the flight America's head ended up on Iceland's shoulder. He sat, almost stiffly, as he tried not to shift too much and wake the sleeping nation. Passengers who happened to glance his way gave him warm smiles, which in turn caused him to flush and scowl and look down at the unguarded expression on America's face. Even after all these years, that expression had not changed…

Iceland gripped his armrests tighter and fought to keep a grimace off his face. Apparently he couldn't really run from old memories even if he wanted to. A feeling of dread knotted in his stomach and he swallowed heavily; diving into memories posed a far more terrifying threat than any rollercoaster concocted for thrill-seekers.

* * *

Even after more than a thousand years, Iceland still remembered his first moment of self-awareness. He had woken in a verdant field with sheep surrounding him, the sky cloudless and blue. The villagers of the nearby settlement had taken him in, instinctively realizing who and what he was, and they cared for him like they would any of their own children.

He grew from infant to toddler in the blink of an eye, and as he grew the villagers explained how they had come from a land across the sea. They taught him how to write and read, and by the time the first Nation he would meet came to his shores, he looked five years old and possessed a strong intuition for his land.

Norway came first. Even through the fog of time Iceland remembered seeing him for the first time, then a Viking with slightly longer, braided hair, swathed in heavy furs and wearing a taciturn expression. He had come specifically for Iceland. The villagers brought the little boy before the man, and Norway had taken Iceland away from the village for some time.

The days they spent alone together Iceland remembered fondly now. Norway introduced himself to Iceland as his older brother, and Iceland had responded to this with joy at the thought of finally having a proper family, immediately using the title that present-day Norway constantly insisted he use. He showed his big brother the entire island, proud of his land and proud that his older brother looked pleased. Norway taught him how to hunt and fight, how to sail and fish, how to make fire and shelter, how to connect to nature.

Norway stayed with him for many years, and Iceland grew even more. The island nation aged in human years from about five to ten. He had short stature for his age, but he trained nonstop with Norway to become a proud fighter, and he did not disappoint. Iceland constantly roamed his lands, from the glaciers and the shores to the mountain peaks that breathed fire.

He remembered how bitter he felt when Norway told him that he had to return to his own country to take care of pressing matters. He promised to return in short order.

So Iceland waited. He roamed his island alone, and while he waited for Norway he acquired another year's growth. And about ten years after Norway left, he returned.

He had other nations in tow: the axe-wielding Denmark, the intimidating Sweden, and Finland, who could go from daydreamer to manifested nightmare in the blink of an eye. They had discovered land even further out than Iceland, and invited him with them when they went to this strange new colony… Greenland.

A freak storm ruined Iceland's perception of seafaring for quite a while afterwards, but eventually they landed on the shores of Greenland, and Iceland met a nation younger than him for the very first time. Greenland, who appeared perhaps four years old, had a very sour disposition and groused at almost all of them. The Nordic nations spent several years in Greenland building up the settlements in order to build a permanent landing, and Iceland often got tasked with babysitting the little grouch.

Oh yeah. That time where Greenland almost fell off a cliff into the sea certainly made an impression on Iceland. He had pitched such a fit about being left alone with the troublemaker that his demand to not be the sole person responsible for little Greenland's safety had actually been heeded.

For perhaps a century, they managed to keep a schedule going, wherein some of the Scandinavians would always remain with Iceland and Greenland while some returned home to take care of domestic affairs, and they switched responsibilities every few months.

But Iceland found himself growing less content with this state of affairs, and after a while, he realized why. Even though Norway was _his_ older brother, Denmark was always by his side. They had fought in many wars, both by each other's side and against each other, and shared centuries of history that Iceland simply could not match. Norway's fondness for Iceland seemed infantile, and Iceland burned with jealousy at the fact that Norway seemed to prefer the loud, bossy Denmark to his little brother. He shut Norway out, and Norway, although hard to read himself, did not appreciate the sudden alienation. He confronted his slighted "little brother" one night, after one of the Icelanders announced that he would lead an expedition to the lands even further west than Greenland.

It led to a falling out.

Norway set sail for his home within the week, and Iceland, fuming and only too happy to see his useless big brother leave, decided to accompany Lief Erickson on his trip. He'd show all of the others, stupid Norway and idiot Denmark and Sweden and Finland that he could take care of himself and manage his land on his own. Erickson rallied his men and, together with Iceland, set sail for this new world.

The salty sea air, the sharp winds, the cries of the gulls… all of it proved a refreshing distraction from the turmoil back home. Iceland enjoyed sailing for the first time in years.

When the young nation first saw the islands Lief had distantly spotted, his heart swelled with pride. He had discovered something before any of the others, before the older brother who didn't respect him. The green on the horizon rose to meet them, illuminated by the dawn at Iceland's back, and he kept vigil for hours as they approached the strange new land. The unbounded, the unexplored, the untamed… all of it rested at Iceland's feet.

He remembered every second of it. The approach, slow and magnificent but still too relaxed for Iceland's eager anticipation to handle. The feeling of the bow of the boat scraping against the shoreline, the ceaseless tide applauding that ultimate moment. The second that an overeager Iceland leaped off the edge of the boat, waded through the shallow waters, and took the first step onto the new land. His men watched in awe as the youth strode confidently up the shoreline and inspected the coniferous frontier, first man of the old world to step foot on the new.

Suddenly, he slammed down his spear. "We make our home here!" he shouted, and the men gave victory cries that echoed for miles down the shore.

And indeed, they did make their home there, with a busy fort springing up in no time and giving way to a village shortly after. Iceland waited through the winter for his little brother to appear, defensive against sharing the little brother with any of his older relatives. That boy did not manifest before him and form the strong bond Iceland had hoped for.

But, in the following year, when Iceland took an exploratory party further south still… he found his kin there.

* * *

Said kin's breath whistled as she slept, no doubt caused by the stuffy blockage of the blizzard's cold. Iceland found himself staring down at her as the plane descended. He had to wake her up soon. When she got up she would blink a few times, yawn in an exaggerated manner, stretch, and thank him for the heads-up.

All he could remember right now, though, was a much younger version of her face peeking in between foliage at him in a world where no one had found her yet but him. The first time she had seen him she regarded him with curiosity and fear, but a thousand times after that when they played their games, she would smile brightly, and laugh with wide blue eyes. Her energy, much like her lands, was boundless, and the nostalgia brimmed within him to boiling.

Now a much older version of her slept with her head slumped on his shoulder. He had lived under Denmark's rule for years and only gained his independence relatively recently. She had fought many wars and climbed to the top of the world in that same time. Now she looked older than her former older brother, and Iceland had no way of knowing if she remembered any of that at all. Her cheek warmed his shoulder and her hair tickled his nose and despite being closer to her than he had been since those long-forgotten days, the cement wall refused to fall away. She had global concerns and he had his small, simple island. She considered him an ally, but barely a friend and by no means kin by any measure. She was beyond his reach.

Oh.

 _Oh._

That realization again. He wanted her, he wanted _something_ , some form of companionship, someone he could talk to constantly without that person looking at him through the lens of an older sibling, an echelon who proclaimed to give advice and watch over him without fully respecting what he thinks and feels. He wanted the America who would treat him like a friend and an equal and respect him for himself, and yet he wanted the America who, like him, remembers the childhood days where it was just the two of them and who yearns for those times once again. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too… or however the saying went.

He was an idiot…

So the idiot reached over and lightly shook her opposite shoulder. "America… America, we're landing. America…"

It took a few minutes to wake her up. She dozed, then stirred, and then opened sky blue eyes glazed over with residual drowsiness. She blinked them a few times, and then gave a gigantic yawn, complete with sound and the stretching of arms and legs.

"Oh man," she groaned. "Nothing like sleeping in a coach class seat to remind you why that sucks."

The walls start sprouting yet again. A sliver of a smile made its way to Iceland's face, and she grinned in response. "Still, I needed that. I feel a lot better. Not great, but better. Thanks for the heads-up, dude!"

The ghost of a smile became wider and she accentuated her gratitude with a thumbs-up. Just like he knew she would. "Yeah."

The plane touched down on the runway with a bump, and America reclined in her seat for the slowing down and the taxiing. "What time is it local?"

Iceland's phone was on airplane mode, but the familiar signature of his own turf flooded his senses. "Almost midnight. Are you sure you'll be okay making a connection right away?"

America's face seemed more flushed than normal as she responded. "It's sweet of you to offer, and I appreciate it, no lies. But the blizzard's headed out over the Atlantic now and some of the southern states got hit harder than they're used to. The higher-ups are going to want me around to help assess the situation."

Iceland tried not to feel too dejected at her decline, even though he knew to expect it. Therefore it surprised him when she continued. "But maybe some other time when the weather's not being a bitch. If you're inviting, well, I invited you camping so it would be really cool to see your place! I've only heard good things about Iceland."

The island nation had tried, so valiantly tried, not to blush during the whole flight. But at the very end, as the plane pulled to a stop at the gate, the floodgates could hold back the rush no more and his face bloomed a brilliant red. He stuttered to convey any sort of response whatsoever, and found the task beyond his capabilities. Tourism composed a decent amount of his economy, but nothing like the powerhouses in Europe, and hearing such bold praise, from a world superpower moreover, left him speechless.

America giggled a little at his surprise, turning slightly pinker herself. "Well, uh, everyone else is disembarking, so we should probably head out too. I'm sure you're glad to be home. You get to sleep in a nice comfy bed instead of another plane seat." Iceland stumbled out of his seat and helped with the carry-on bags, only half-listening to America's joking complaints about cabin sleeping accommodations, still somewhat dizzy at her admission.

They made their way to the gate on uncertain feet and stopped momentarily at the edge. America had to go make a connection in fifteen minutes while Iceland needed to go in the opposite direction to reach baggage claim and the exit. "I guess this is where we _really_ split off," America said. "I'll probably send an email about camping in the next couple days after this whole blizzard mess dies down. Though the trip itself will probably have to be a little later if we're gonna rough it in the True North."

"Better to wait than freeze to death," Iceland replied with a little shrug, trying to play it cool. He could still feel the remnants of heat on his face and neck.

America laughed at that. "True, true. But we should still go when the Aurora's around. It'll be awesome! All right…" she said, hefting her carry-on, "I'm gonna head out and try to grab another cocoa before my next flight takes off. See ya 'round?"

"Yeah," Iceland nodded. A beat, and then both of them turned to head to their respective destinations. Iceland felt the cement creeping again, and turned when he was a few paces away. The crowd had already begun to swallow America's figure as she strutted, confident and secure, through the busy airport.

"Ame-!"

He stopped himself from calling out to her. He wanted time to stop, just for the two of them, so he could ask her…. Ask her what? Did he want to candidly admit to the things he remembered, that he could not be sure she did? Did he want to risk alienating her with memories a thousand years old and unrequited longing for friendship, and possibly some sort of reconciliation?

He wanted his soul to shout into the void and reach its distant target. And he wanted a return call, a meeting between time and space and the expulsion of everything that kept him alone.

But he did not want to risk the fall.

So he stopped himself, turned around, and hurried on his way. And in doing so, missed catching sight of the confident and secure figure pausing, turning back, and watching with soulful eyes as he, in turn, vanished into the void of the crowd.

* * *

End Chapter Three

* * *

1) I don't know if I was clear about this before, but although this multichapter is based off of _One Thousand Years_ , it's not in the exact same AU. The backstory differs slightly.

2) Pretty much the only character I feel confident in writing is America. Trying to capture a male teen's conflicting emotions is hard for a female twenty-something who didn't have relationship problems even close to his. Moreover, I feel like I'm writing all the other characters one-dimensional and in a bad light. I'm going to try to flesh out their characters more in later chapters, because really, the negatively-tinted characterization is mostly due to Iceland's mixed feelings towards them.

3) Re-watching all the Hetalia episodes featuring the Nordics is awesome, but the anime also doesn't do the complexity of Nordic relations justice. Hetalia is by nature a humorous show, but in all his appearances Iceland really does seem to be the odd guy out in the Nordics. Then again that's perfect for the premise of this story, so who am I to complain?

4) It looks like at this rate, this Greenland is going to bear a lot of similarity to the one from Scandinavia and the World. That will be avoided if at all possible but they'll definitely resemble one another.

5) I know I've heard Canada referred to as the "True North" somewhere other than its national anthem (which I did not know was de facto and not official until I checked, huh..), but I haven't been able to verify that anywhere else. Still, it makes sense. Canada reaches further north than any nation except possibly Greenland (have to check that), and Alert, Nunavut, Canada is the northernmost permanently-inhabited settlement in the world, with Nord, Greenland coming in second. Quiet Canada must be tough as nails...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

11/9/2015: It seems I've been updating this every few days. Thanks for becoming my NaNo project, _OTYM_. Regardless, have this chapter to ease the pain of another Monday. Also, apparently Icelanders and Canadians really like this story. You guys are intimidating me! But seriously, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Four

* * *

The next few days seemed like torture. Norway had left two voice mails before Iceland even arrived home, and after turning airplane mode off, he found at least one text from each of his fellow Nordics asking him if he had gotten back safely. Iceland tried to make the most of his hours in his government offices, but his mind kept straying back to the two North American twins and the plans for the spring. If anyone bothered to look at his browser history, Iceland would probably get a lot of questions about his sudden interest in the weather patterns over the United States.

While at home, he inspected his camping gear meticulously, and even practiced using some of it just to make sure he remembered everything. Then he often ended up mentally covering his face in embarrassment at himself for dorking over a trip America likely hadn't yet had a spare moment to plan, because maybe his enthusiasm would put them off. Maybe he should just send the email himself… and come off looking too forward by doing so. Fuck, there was just no winning with this! So between twiddling his thumbs at work, twiddling his thumbs at home, and twiddling his thumbs as he traveled in the countryside surrounding Reykjavik, it boggled the mind that Iceland's thumbs didn't twiddle themselves right off his hands.

Then, about a week after the end of the World Conference, the email he had waited so diligently for finally appeared in his government email's inbox.

 _Subject: Camping Trip!_

 _From: United States_

 _To: Iceland, Canada, Molossia_

 _Hey Dudes!_

 _So Molossia, I know you weren't at the meeting but basically Canada and Iceland and I thought it would be super awesome to have a camping trip in the spring, probably up in Canada's turf. See the aurora, do a little hunting, get chased by a bear, all the good stuff! Canada, bro, you know your climate better than the rest of us but I'm still inclined to push it as late as we can in the spring when we can still see northern lights, because it's gonna be freezing up north! How does late March/early April work for everyone?_

 _\- USAwesome_

Iceland would make that time work. He figured he was getting way too excited about this camping trip but excused himself on the basis that he didn't really get to do this all too much. He read over the email several times just to make sure he had taken in the message, but also because he did not want to respond too quickly.

Though, why had she invited… who was Molossia, anyway? He actually had to consult a search engine to learn that Molossia was a micronation within America, specifically her state of Nevada. Hell, not a single country on Earth recognized this Molossia as a nation, not even America herself, so why had America invited him anyway? It irked Iceland to no end because it felt like his presence in this group was being diluted swiftly, even though he rationally understood that this could not possibly be a slight against him.

All of a sudden, the email flared in his inbox again. Canada had added his response.

 _America, I don't think getting chased by a bear is something to look forward to. That being said, the time you listed is probably the latest in the year that we could make this work until August. Is everyone okay with March/April?_

 _\- Canada_

Iceland was about to respond when America blew up the quickly-forming thread, bombastic as usual.

 _Hey, that's an awesome idea, let's do this in August too! It'll probably be warmer then too._

 _\- USAwesome_

Iceland was not even surprised at how quickly things escalated.

 _What the fuck is your problem just randomly blowing up my email, America?! Who the fuck said I wanted to be on this camping trip shit you got planned anyway, huh?!_

 _\- Molossia_

… A tirade of insults followed by a lackluster signature. Iceland blinked. Quite a character, this "Molossia"…

 _Dude, if you don't wanna go, just say you don't wanna go. Canada and Iceland and I can party in the north without you._

 _\- USAwesome_

Yeah, this was ge-

 _I NEVER SAID I WASN'T GOING!_

 _\- Molossia_

A sudden PING alerted Iceland to the fact that a chat box had been opened.

 _Canada: Maybe instead of filling our government inboxes with your cyber-shouting match we could talk here?_

 _America: Does the chat even keep a record of everything we talk about?_

 _Molossia: You can just copy/paste everything after we're done here, duh._

 _Iceland: This does seem more expedient._

He almost wanted to laugh at how quickly the situation had escalated and de-escalated, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he unconsciously recalled the numerous times Denmark would set Norway off and incite the other into strangling him with his tie. Despite the similarities to the people he was hoping to get a break from, Iceland found it refreshing coming from this New World Trio.

 _America: ANYWAY, Camping!_

 _Molossia: I got the memo the first time damn it_

 _Canada: Anyway, guys, I'm free the last weekend in March._

 _America: Can't you make it lateeeer?_

 _Canada: No._

 _Molossia: Stop whining America, that works for me._

 _America: LOL dude ur gonna freeze to death._

 _Iceland: The last week of March works for me. Where are we meeting up, and where will we go?_

 _Canada: America._

Iceland paused at Canada's reply. He had been under the impression that this trip was in the northern twin's land. Judging by the silence in the chat, America and Molossia were equally confused. However, Iceland's confusion was quickly resolved when Canada continued typing.

 _Canada: Let me handle the plans. We'll probably meet in Ottawa or Toronto and fly north from there. The best places to view the lights are Whitehorse, Yellowknife, and Iqaluit, but they're all far north._

 _America: Fiiiiine. Which do you recommend bro?_

 _Canada: Well, Yellowknife has the most to do_

 _America: SOLD!_

 _Molossia: You didn't even let the rest of us pick!_

 _Canada: Well, I do think it is the best place…_

 _Iceland: Canada's the expert here. I'm inclined to agree with his opinion on this.  
_

 _America: WOOHOO!_

America's antics made Iceland smile. He didn't even bat an eye at Molossia's consistent cursing and Canada's attempts to make peace during their chat. Somehow, he and Canada managed to rein in the two boisterous nations, and between the four of them they made a big headway into their camping plans in just a little over two months.

* * *

The thought of a trip with a brand-new group of nations kept Iceland's spirits up throughout the week as he reviewed everything that he needed to see to, both domestically and internationally. Quite a few issues had been tabled at the world meeting, and remembering Russia's hangover and Poland's indignation amused him greatly. His plans for late March motivated him to take care of more issues during the work day, so he could relax at home and plan for the trip, and entertain a memory or two. He actually planned on bringing something with him for the three nations, and currently his mission was to speak with America without arousing her suspicion.

The ringing of his home phone interrupted him during the evening the Saturday after their group chat, and he hustled to the kitchen, hoping it might be one of them. The phone's caller ID proclaimed Norway as the person calling him, and he deflated slightly as he answered. "Hello, Norway."

"Little brother, you've been ignoring me."

"I've been busy," Iceland frowned.

"You usually make time to call." Norway's voice was flat but Iceland could hear the protest in it. Fucking fantastic. When their calls started like this, they usually ended up with the two of them getting into an argument and one of them – usually Iceland – prematurely ending the call with a clipped farewell. But, he was in no mood to deal with the fallout, mostly because it entailed him feeling guilty and not fully comprehending how or why.. though Norway's minimal attitude towards these outbursts might have something to do with it. Instead of snapping at his brother, Iceland rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I guess I just lost track of the time."

Silence on the other end.

"….Norway?"

"U-uh…"

Okay, now he had Iceland's full attention. Norway had _stuttered_? "Are you all right?"

".. Yes, I'm fine." Iceland breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever had come over Norway seemed to have passed, because he quickly got into the reason for calling. "Since the next conference is in mid-April, Fin wanted to get together again before then and suggested Easter."

Iceland blinked. They always celebrated Easter together, and it was rather close to the conference date, anyway. "What are we doing this year? If it involves Denmark and unlimited booze again…"

He could practically hear Norway's rolling eyes over the phone. "I'm not gonna let bro convince us to do that again. Sweden suggested a family vacation. Hiking, a picnic, things like that."

Hm. It seemed like everyone was suddenly interested in the great outdoors. "That sounds nice."

"… Are you okay, little brother?" Norway asked, clearly concerned.

"I'm fine," Iceland said, stressing the word "fine" ever so slightly. "Seriously, why do you think something's wrong?"

Norway hesitated a moment before answering. "You're usually a lot more grumpy when I call you."

It was Iceland's turn to hesitate, as he ran over scenarios in his head over how he could respond to the minor accusation. It seemed that every situation he could think of ended up with Norway chiding him for being too childish. In the end he chose something neutral. "Well, like I said, I've been working hard this week, so I have a lot on my mind."

"Do you want to share?"

"It's just internal affairs, bro," Iceland said somewhat defensively, before blinking at his slip of the word "bro". Miraculously, Norway neither pressed the issue nor seemed to catch the slip himself.

"Fine, fine. Well, Sweden was suggesting that we have the trip at the end of March or the beginning of April, hang around, and go to the conference in Bern all together."

"I don't know about the end of March," Iceland said, not wanting to divulge his actual plans to his older brother, "but that sounds fine."

"All right, I'll call you back-" All of a sudden, Iceland heard the sounds of a scuffle breaking out, and the clatter of Norway's phone dropping. Just as suddenly, he heard shuffling as it was picked up.

"Hello?" Sweden's baritone voice mumbled.

"Svi?"

"Hello Iceland." Iceland grimaced. Sweden had a thick accent few could understand well, but over the phone, without being able to read his lips or his body language, it was ten times worse trying to communicate.

"What happened?"

"Denmark wanted to start a whale hunting competition with Faroe and Norway started choking him with his tie."

Well, if Iceland had understood Sweden correctly, it was probably for the best. Still, a part of him resented the fact that the four of them – and Finland was probably there, too – were able to spend so much time together. (Never mind the fact that he was hiding this North American camping trip from them because he wanted a wider circle of friends.) So all he did was reply, "Oh. Well, I think we were wrapping up anyway. Tell Norway to break Denmark's teeth."

Sweden rumbled in faint amusement, said farewell, and hung up.

Iceland disconnected on his end and sighed as he watched the phone's screen proclaim the call ended and fade to black. There he was, the youngest, all alone, not quite on their level, and unable to even figure out his own feelings.

He didn't really want to talk the rest of them anymore. At least, not right away.

Iceland quickly threw on a coat and grabbed his cell phone. He locked his doors and headed out of his house at the fringes of Reykjavik, and set a brisk pace with no particular destination in mind. The cold winter wind stung his face, but it felt refreshingly raw as Iceland strode down to the shore. He hoped the gusts would not make it impossible to hear as his lifted his phone to his ear and called America.

* * *

For her part, the sudden call from Iceland had both surprised and pleased her. His reason for calling had surprised and pleased her even more. He wanted to learn more about Molossia for the trip! That was really sweet of him! America wasn't surprised that Iceland was a bit wary of the micronation he had never met, and since the superpower wanted the trip to go smoothly and serve as a nice, relaxing break for all of them, she had obliged Iceland's request easily.

Molossia, she explained, was kind and tame both in appearance and at heart, but often stylized himself as a perpetually-swearing tough kid when in the company of people he didn't know well. The best way to describe him was a younger England with an even more foul mouth, although the mental images of that comparison certainly left an impression on both her and Iceland.

Since Molossia was 5000 square meters of Nevada dryland, he probably wouldn't adapt to the cold as well as the other three, she had warned him. Iceland considered this information and suddenly brought up the suggestion that he bring one of his famous sweaters. His lopapeysa, he explained, was famous for its warmth, water-resistance, and traditional Icelandic origins.

America beamed. Iceland really was a great nation!

As she set her phone down, she chewed on the inside of her cheek thinking about said really great nation. He seemed more withdrawn nowadays than he had in the past, so when he accepted her invitation to go camping she had sighed in relief. Maybe it wasn't that he was a shut-in, but rather shy?

Still, that wasn't really what she thought of him. He was alone, maybe, but sweet.

… Sweet?

She frowned. Iceland seemed to have problems with his fellow Nordics looking down on him in their mannerisms. Well, if that bothered him, the last thing she wanted to do was contribute to the problem. After all, she owed him a lot… even if he didn't remember it.

Her thoughts took her back in time a thousand years, her memories both fuzzy and crystal clear. A youth in the woods, a roaring fire, an older brother.

Who knows what he thought of her today. Did he even remember that?

She glanced out the window at the D.C. landscape, the rooftops still glistening with pristine white snow. Maybe his tumultuous history had pushed what they shared from his mind. And, if she was being honest with herself, America didn't really know if she could consider Iceland a brother now. She had looked up to him as he taught her invaluable skills for survival. Then she had lost him for a thousand years, and she shared more history with England and Canada, and she kept the memories in the back of her mind, with Iceland gone but not forgotten. She hadn't known when, or if, she would see him again, and then along came World War Two.

He had grown, but she was taller and stronger than him now. And to this day, he carried with him slumped shoulders and a bored expression that seemed to serve as a mask for his loneliness to hide behind. Well, she could relate to that.

Iceland was a great nation, and she could consider him a friend. But the older brother that found her in the forest so long ago…?

"… He used to be so big."

* * *

End Chapter Four

* * *

1) Well, um, that certainly ended on a feelsy note. Oops...

2) Molossia! Because the micronations don't get enough love.

3) I don't know where the best place to view Northern Lights are. I've only visited Niagara Falls and Toronto. If any Canadians want to chime in I'll listen.

4) Iceland seems to have some social anxiety. Nothing America can't handle, I'm sure.

5) And ugh, I'm still portraying the other Nordics so one-dimensional, as if all they do in life is annoy Iceland when that is most definitely not the case. They need some screen time soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Wednesday, 11 November 2015: This chapter was a pain to write. Lucky for you guys these chapters seem to get progressively longer.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Five

* * *

January, February, and the first three weeks of March both seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and yet drag on forever. But before long, Iceland was hauling two suitcases with him to Reykjavik's international airport for his flight to Toronto. One suitcase had his clothing and some of the equipment that would not rough up his winter gear. The other suitcase had some equipment that he could bring on the plane without security troubles – not that nations had those often, what with their levels of clearance.

The four nations had started conducting weekly chat sessions on their government emails as the trip drew nearer, in order to nail down precise logistics. Canada and America volunteered to take care of most of the heavy-duty equipment necessary, as they had less security details to worry about. Iceland took care of some intermediate necessities as well as his own personal backpack. Molossia needed more help than the micronation cared to say, and Iceland had a feeling that America had plenty of one-on-one sessions with him leading up to the trip in order to prepare him for the cold.

As he boarded his flight, all Iceland could think about was the sweaters in his clothing suitcase. He had packed one for each nation, and fretted over how each of them would receive the gifts. Denmark often teased Iceland over them, implying that they were uncool and not stylish, and even though Iceland knew that fashion wasn't the primary purpose here, the comments still irked him more than he cared to admit.

The flight bored him more than anything, as most of it offered nothing more interesting to watch than the endless blue of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a relief to finally land in Toronto and disembark from the plane.

When he stepped out of the gate, he checked his phone. Sure enough, Canada had texted each of them instructions on the gate for the flight to Yellowknife and where he would wait for them. Iceland sent a text of his own confirming that he had read the note, double checked the instructions against the airport signs, found them reliable, and went to meet the other nations. He checked his phone again. Neither America nor Molossia had responded to the text yet, so Iceland assumed they were still en route.

Suddenly, he saw a sign hovering above the airport crowds that attracted quite a few stares. On it he saw his flag, America's flag, and what he assumed to be the flag of Molossia. Well, that made sense. The nations no longer paraded their identities among human populations like they had back in the day, and not only did nations vary their human names with the trends of the time, but the etiquette for addressing another nation by his or her human name varied with every change in both political or personal relations. The situation could literally turn on a dime.

Iceland headed over to the poster and found Canada holding it, as he expected. "Hello, Iceland," he said, offering the island nation a smile. "You're the first one in. Well, according to my phone, America's and Molossia's flight should be landing soon. We can take a seat over there, if you'd like."

Iceland nodded. "Okay." The two walked over to the window overlooking the runway silently, and Iceland wished he had more to talk about with Canada. Sadly, he also did not have much contact with him outside politics, and the chats the four had conducted over email revolved entirely around the trip.

Canada, however, was nothing if not a polite host, and he offered refreshments and small talk to Iceland while they waited for their loud compatriots. Iceland courteously held conversation, his mind drifting elsewhere…

* * *

The settlement in Vinland had risen remarkably fast, mostly because the harsh winter forced them to build sturdy and insulated homes in a short amount of time. The population remained relatively constant, as the Icelandic settlers were Viking tough and could withstand much of nature's fury. The natives approached them warily but left them alone for the most part, and Iceland eagerly awaited the day the personification of Vinland colony would manifest.

That time did not come during the winter, and Iceland was both surprised and dejected by that. More settlers joined them in the spring, including women and children, which would bolster their numbers. Unfortunately, however, spring also brought Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Denmark to the new colony, and Iceland had no idea how to feel about it.

He did not run up to greet them when he saw their boat land. From his hut, he saw them gaze at the new land with some awe and great satisfaction. Iceland focused on Norway's unreadable expression the most. His older brother _did_ seem proud of the land Iceland had discovered and settled, but for a moment, the youngest Nordic saw a frown twitch on his older brother's face for the briefest fraction of a second. It spoke volumes; _he_ had wanted to be the first to land here, probably, and he disapproved of Iceland's independent venture for too many reasons to name, some obvious and others less so. Denmark clearly saw this advance as something to mind, too, no matter how practical the colony served for the harvesting of resources.

Suddenly, Iceland wasn't so sure if he wanted to go out and greet them at all. He felt… intimidated.

Perhaps, if he could hide out in the woods for the next three days, he could slip on Erickson's expedition further south and evade his brothers' inquisition a little longer?

He really couldn't decide what to do, but he gave his men orders not to reveal the fact that he hadn't returned to his own lands yet. Word quickly spread, and by the time the Vikings asked about Iceland's whereabouts, the settlers fed them a thoroughly convincing lie that just the past week he had set sail for Greenland after been stuck in Vinland all winter.

Iceland spent the next three days deep in the woods hunting and gathering and meeting with his men. He interacted with the natives more in the deeper parts of the forest, though their radically different languages meant that any communication was minimal. His men informed him of Erickson's accelerated progress, to slip an expedition away that very night. Iceland smiled, never happier to be evading his brothers.

But, as he slipped down the coast to the ship, a movement in the darkness made him pause. Watching him from the corner of a house stood a small figure swathed in Vikings' clothes and appearing outwardly very much like any other Viking settler. But he was too young a child to have come with a mother, and therefore he was-

"Vinland?"

The boy's eyes widened, and instead of approaching the hand Iceland stretched out for him, the skittish creature scampered back into the woods, back to the territory the native tribes owned.

Iceland stood there in shock for a full five minutes. Vinland had manifested… only after his brothers had fortified the settlement with their own people. Even when Iceland struck out on his own to make his own way, it seemed that he could not accomplish anything without their interference. The proof was in Vinland's attitude, refusing Iceland outright. Fingernails dug into his palm as Iceland imagined Vinland being discovered later by Norway or Denmark, boasting about how they found him first, about how they were Vinland's big brother and not Iceland, and they would never believe Iceland if he insisted otherwise, calling him a whining brat…

Being rejected by the land _he_ had colonized filled Iceland with anger. He didn't bother to check whether or not Vinland had waited on the edge of the forest to watch his actions. Vinland might be some measure of kin, but Iceland could not, would not just accept a brother that ran from him before even making an introduction. He turned on his heel, marched down the shore, and boarded Erickson's waiting ship, vanishing into the night.

He could only hope that better omens awaited in the south.

* * *

"Yo dudes!"

Both Canada and Iceland started at the sudden shout. America's gait, impossible to miss, brought her quickly from where she had shouted to their current seats by the airport windows. Molossia followed a step behind her, wearing a heavy jacket with military aesthetics, a sharp hairstyle, a large, dark pair of sunglasses, and a scowl to rival Sweden's default expression.

The two waiting nations stood up as the new arrivals approached, and America pulled Canada into a bear hug. Canada mumbled something about her crushing his lungs, but seemed to return the hug with equal enthusiasm, leaving Molossia and Iceland to momentarily stand on either side of them, shuffling awkwardly and looking anywhere but the twins. After the two pulled apart, both Canada and Iceland shook Molossia's hand. He seemed to be sizing them up, though as both were obviously taller than him, he didn't cut a very intimidating figure. America finished off the greetings by offering Iceland another fist bump, which was easily accepted.

"Nice to see you guys again!" she chirped. "So besides boring airport waiting, what's up?"

"Well, nothing much besides that," Canada laughed. "I got confirmation that the camping equipment you sent arrived in Yellowknife safely, though. It will be waiting for us when we land."

"Awesome, awesome," America nodded her head up and down, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So dude, how long does this flight take? We're almost the whole continent and several latitudes away from your Northwest Territory."

Canada almost looked nervous to report the answer. "… Eight hours."

The response was both immediate and comic. America drooped, practically collapsing on herself, while Molossia simultaneously jumped and slouched, gaping at the Canadian. Both of them desperately shouted, "What?!" causing several passersby to stare.

Canada couldn't help it. He doubled over laughing, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. After a moment, America straightened slowly and started to grin, and her own infectious laughter rang in Iceland's ears. He, in turn, had to chuckle at their antics, while Molossia grumbled swear words and tried not to let his lips twitch upwards.

They gathered their carry-on bags and headed for their next gate, where the flight to Yellowknife would take off in twenty minutes. The twins easily walked side-by-side with each other, but Molossia and Iceland couldn't quite figure out how to walk in their little group of four. The journey to the other gate consisted of them weaving behind the North American twins, trying to figure out whether walking directly behind them or flanking a twin seemed more comfortable. They were almost at the gate when Iceland realized that little dances like this would only make the whole trip more uncomfortable, and offered Molossia a small smile and a shrug. Molossia seemed to understand, and returned the gesture with a shrug and nod of his own.

America immediately assaulted the food shops right outside the gate, intent on stocking up on food for the ride. Molossia bickered with her the entire time, demanding to know why she was hoarding fast food right before a camping trip beyond the reaches of human civilization. After taking one look at the good-natured argument, Canada sighed and settled into a chair to read a book. Iceland, for his part, checked the batteries in a satellite phone he had borrowed from the government before shutting it off and inspecting the other items in his carry-on.

When the flight was called, all four were pleased to note that the airplane would have more empty seats than occupied ones – meaning that there would be no scuffles over who sat where. They boarded the plane and made their way to coach class before shuffling into two rows of seats.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to nap," America declared.

Canada nodded. "That's a good idea, given the time change. I'll probably do the same."

Molossia looked a bit put out. "We might as well _all_ nap at this rate. I want a window seat so no one bothers me." He shuffled into America's row and took the window seat. America shrugged and plopped in the aisle seat. "When the flight attendant comes by I'll grab us both blankets and pillows," she said, and Molossia muttered some form of assent.

Canada shuffled into the aisle seat right next to America, leaving Iceland to debate where to sit. Sitting between America and Molossia would be weird. Sitting in the window seat of Canada's row would be less weird, but still weird. In the end, he took the aisle seat behind Canada and wrapped himself in the blanket the flight attendant provided.

Though America claimed she was going to sleep during the flight, she kept bouncing during takeoff, babbling about how awesomely fun the trip would be. Thankfully for Iceland, his hop across the Atlantic meant the time change was getting to him the most severely, and even during the turbulent takeoff he could feel himself nodding off to sleep.

* * *

"Icelaaaaand. Iiiiiice! Iceeeey!"

Poke poke poke.

"Go 'way, Denmark," Iceland snapped drowsily.

America's laughter rang out and woke him up. "Dude, does Denmark really do that?"

Iceland blinked away the drowsiness and noticed that they were circling the airport, waiting for their landing. "Yeah, sometimes, when I'm at his house. All of them call me Ice or Icey a lot, though." He stretched fatigue and soreness out of his muscles and watched as the plane descended lower and lower and lower...

"It's a good nickname. I'm stealing it," America proclaimed. Next to her, Canada smiled. Molossia snorted. Iceland rolled his eyes but felt amusement at her blatant honesty.

"I'm sure they're more than happy to share," he retorted.

"Good," America said with false gruffness. "Now let's get off this stupid plane."

Another wave of amusement surged through them as they grabbed their bags and hurried to the front of the plane to step off, but as they walked up the alley to the gate, the cold started to eat at them. Molossia hunched over, arms pressed to his chest, and started swearing under his breath. "Fuck, it's cold!"

"We can change into some warmer clothes before we head to the car rental," America hummed. "But of course we need to get our suitcases first. And I need to pick up the camping stuff while we're there. Canada, where did your peeps say it was stowed?"

Iceland tuned out as Canada pulled out an email he'd printed off and inspected the airport, wondering what sort of vista they would be treated to once they hit the road. Molossia fell into step with him and gave him some stares, with varying degrees of curiosity, distrust, and residual hostility. The micronation had just worked up the courage to speak to Iceland when America cheered at reaching the baggage claim. As the strongest between the four of them, she had the guys pick up all the luggage while she collected the heavier camping gear waiting for them behind an official-looking office desk. Canada sighed but resigned himself to the task.

In no time each nation had collected his suitcases, and Canada and Iceland were pleasantly surprised that America had only packed one suitcase instead of the ten they had feared. They distributed luggage between the three of them, just in time to find America all but hefting a huge pack over her head and consequently terrifying the humans who managed to catch sight of this. She flagged them over to the side of the baggage claim, and the four of them made their way to the wall. America barely waited for them to clear the way before slamming down her load and recovering her suitcase.

"All right, boys," she said, "You guys gotta get on some warmer clothes before we head outside. 'Specially you, Molossia." Without much regard for her surroundings, she discarded her bomber jacket and started lifting her thin shirt over her head.

The reaction was immediate. Molossia squawked, Canada paled, and Iceland flushed, all three of them averting their eyes instantly. America merely rolled hers. "I'm wearing thermal layers, guys," she snorted, waving an arm still clothed in thin flannel in their faces. "And thermal leggings, too, so don't freak out when I change into sweats." With awkward muttered apologies, her companions set about dressing themselves in their own layers for warmth.

Iceland took his time, while realizing that he couldn't dawdle forever. He had gifts for the other nations, but now, thinking about how much Denmark teased him over his sweaters, he almost wanted to put off giving it to them until they were at their campsite. But, that would defeat the entire purpose of getting them sweaters... Iceland gripped the fabric tightly, glancing between the nations and wondering over the how, when, and why of presenting them to the others.

Then he caught sight of America. He saw her glancing down at the fabric bunched around his hands, and a knowing smile graced her lips. She raised her eyes until she locked gazes with Iceland, and the wisp of a smile turned into a more confident one, encouraging him. Then she broke eye contact, stuffing her feet (themselves sheathed in three layers of socks) into heavy boots.

It took a moment, but Iceland finally spoke up. "Um… I thought you guys might want something."

He had the attention of the other three immediately, and when they were all looking at him, he held up the four sweaters. "My sweaters are well-known for being super-warm and water resistant, so I thought you guys might like them. I had them made in each of your colors," he said, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as he handed them the appropriate sweaters.

Canada's eyes lighted at the thoughtfulness and took his sweater, red and white, with true appreciation. He immediately donned it over a thinner, less effective sweatshirt and smoothed it out, admiring the patterns and care that went into making it. "This is wonderful. Thank you, Iceland."

Molossia ineffectively muttered about not needing it halfheartedly, but he accepted his, running his hands over the tricolor fabric, slightly shocked that, in some small way, he had been acknowledged. He, too, slipped it on, mumbling his gratitude.

He gauged America's reaction last, and noticed that her eyes had widened with surprise, just as he'd hoped. She thought he had only gotten one for Molossia, but as he extended her a tricolor sweater, a huge grin broke out on her face. She held it up, admiring the stars-and-stripes design that kept faithful to her flag, and dressed herself in it so eagerly that when her head poked out the collar end her glasses went askew. Iceland silently slipped on his own sweater, trying not to think about how he and America were wearing the exact same colors, when she suddenly grabbed him in a hug. "This is so cool and these sweaters are amazing! You're so awesome, Iceland!"

He stiffened, and once again rallied all of his nonexistent troops to not blush or stutter or make a fool of himself. Canada smiled at America's exuberance while Molossia snickered at Iceland's predicament, and once the four of them had dressed in coats and felt comfortable stepping outside to rent their truck, Iceland waited outside and watched the dark gray clouds and tried not to think about the pleased reactions to his sweaters.

Sweaters, that, as far as anyone else was concerned, he had not personally made.

* * *

End Chapter Five  


* * *

1) Everyone is a gigantic dork. Iceland is the biggest dork. Iceland is also the cutest dork. Case closed.

2) Some more headcanons that appear in this chapter: One, countries used to be pretty open with humans about who and what they were, but as dangers became more sophisticated the existence of personifications became more secret. Two, they pick and change names to reflect the most popular trends, so that their names don't stand out to humans. Three, while they often pose as international bureaucrats they also have a considerable amount of security clearance; the Nations' diplomat jobs serve as a cover not only for their status as Nations but also for their "real" jobs as international agents, like Interpol agents or something. Smoke and mirrors and red herrings abound (but not strictly espionage).

3) I am not happy with how I seem to consistently make the rest of the Nordics out to be unsympathetic, even though it's not entirely unwarranted in the Viking era. It just happens, even though they're practically my favorite characters in the whole series. Even little Canada came off as mean. He was just scared, shy, and small. Cut the cutie a break!

4) Molossia needs to open up!

5) Iceland has no military save its Coast Guard, hence the phrase "nonexistent troops". (And yes, he makes sweaters.)

A/N: I hate it when flashbacks are completely italicized, but I may put some sort of subtle notice at the beginnings and ends of flashback sequences just to make it easier to keep track of. Marking flashback delineations with "FLASHBACK WHOOHOO" and "END FLASHBACK HOORAY" is not my preferred solution here. If you have a preference or a suggestion just drop a line.

* * *

 _In Flanders fields, the poppies blow  
between the crosses, row on row,  
that mark our place; and in the sky  
the larks, still bravely singing, fly  
scarce heard amid the guns below.  
_

 _We are the Dead. Short days ago,  
we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,  
loved, and were loved, and now we lie  
in Flanders' fields. _

_Take up our quarrel with the foe.  
To you from failing hands we throw  
the torch; be yours to hold it high.  
If ye break faith with us who die,  
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow  
in Flanders fields._

-Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

Armistice Day, Remembrance Day, Veterans' Day. The soldiers who fight and die to protect those who cannot protect themselves do so largely in anonymity and without pomp and circumstance. I do not agree with some of the wars where we send brave men and women off, possibly to their deaths, but the weight of their sacrifices remains unchanged by the rationale for combat. They uphold honor and safeguard freedom and sometimes pay the ultimate price in doing so, so please take a moment of your day to honor those soldiers who have died in the line of duty and thank those who stand in our defense to this day.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Monday, 16 November 2015: Oh this chapter. Ooooh, this chapter. This one was fun to write.

I originally intended to upload this chapter on Friday, but due to the string of tragedies around the world, I refrained out of respect for the lives lost. I urge everyone to stand in solidarity with the French, share in our common humanity, and stand against the lovers of death that perpetuated this atrocity. My heart goes out to France, Lebanon, Syria, Beirut, Palestine, and everywhere else. Please stay safe, everyone.

* * *

One Thousand Years: Chapter Six

* * *

"Do it," Molossia growled, "And I'll choke you."

His only response was America's shit-eating grin, aimed at the micronation through the rear-view mirror. She clenched her hands around the steering wheel in anticipation, and Molossia seemed to be coiling his body to spring from the backseat. Canada looked ready to slam his face on the dashboard, and Iceland watched the proceedings, hoping he wouldn't need to restrain Molossia, with whom he had only just made a tentative connection.

The nations had no trouble acquiring their rental car, a sturdy SUV with three rows of seats and storage room to spare. They also had no trouble loading up their gear. All the boys had to do was lower the third row of seats and let America work her super-strength magic. And again, they had no trouble figuring out the route to their destination; four fully-charged, satellite-linked phones with GPS capabilities practically ensured the nations couldn't get lost if they tried. No, the trouble came once America had taken the wheel, gotten them on to the highway, and suggested a rousing round of "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall".

Which led to Molossia's hollow threat, America's challenging smirk, and Iceland's violent sense of déjà-vu . However, before America could begin the first of ninety-nine increasingly obnoxious choruses, Canada pressed the button for satellite radio and set it for blasting.

"Ow!"

Attention successful diverted, he turned the volume back down to a more manageable level. "Let's keep it civil, shall we? We've got almost two hours of driving and I don't want to spend them pulling the two of you apart. Though Kuma would be more than happy to," he said with a warning smile.

Iceland still could not understand how or why Canada had a polar bear. His own puffin was understandable, but a _polar bear_?

Both America and Molossia rolled their eyes at having their fun interrupted. America blew a bubble from her gum and let it pop. "Fine, we'll sit like pretty princesses and listen to – who the hell is this?" Impatient fingers jammed the radio trying to discover the song and artist, and America _tsk_ ed in annoyance. "Bro, did you pick like the One Hit Wonders Station? Come on, this is satellite radio and we got Pandora, make a party playlist!"

"If you try to whip to Watch Me, I swear to god I'm going to hit you," Molossia once again threatened. But he grinned and bent his head over the front seat with Canada constructing a playlist.

Iceland leaned against the window, head propped on one hand, trying to figure out why he could go from feeling like he belonged in the gang to completely isolated at random times over random things. Unfortunately, his silence caught the interest of the driver. "You okay, Icey?"

Somehow that nickname didn't sound half so annoying coming from these nations compared to the other group. "Yeah," Iceland said, and he didn't entirely lie. "I think I'm still recovering from the time change. … Hey, America, you like that song of Norway's, right? 'The Fox?'"

Her expression lit up, and she bellowed, "WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?!" The vehicle actually started to rock as she pumped her fist and continued singing nonsense lyrics, and Iceland couldn't restrain a small laugh at the look of horror on Canada's face as he felt the SUV lurch. The song got added to the playlist quickly, just so America wouldn't flip the SUV trying to power the party herself.

All four of them sang the beginning lyrics, but at the first chorus, America called over the singing, "So how exactly did _Norway_ come up with _this_ song, Iceland?"

They all knew that nations were not personally responsible for everything that occurred within them, or for every product their citizens created. However, the mental image of perpetual poker-face Norway coming up with the song was too much for the others to handle, and as they listened to the rest of the song, the image of Norway rocking out to The Fox, bizarre fox-calls and all, caused all of them to laugh until tears stung at the corners of their eyes.

As the party mix progressed into other songs fit for a rave, Iceland went back to resting his head and watching the scenery. Forests and the shores of too many lakes to count spread before them as far as the eye could see, and it was no wonder that even so soon into their trip they were already practically offroading – no nation could maintain a highway infrastructure large enough to make this wilderness traversible.

The island nation thought, distantly, that the scene must look identical to the natives and travelers from centuries ago.

* * *

 _-circa 1000AD-_

The first good omen, he supposed, was the lack of pursuit from the other Nordics. Either Erickson had failed to bring notice to himself, and the Scandinavians hadn't even noticed his departure, or he had left so swiftly that they could not mount a successful pursuit – for lack of either time or direction, or both.

They followed the coast until they reached what looked like a large bay. Rather than continue inland, where there were more likely to be natives and less likely to be quick routes of retreat, they continued to trail the coastline. Navigation was an imprecise science, but it didn't take too much calculation to understand that the explorers had put very little actual distance between them and Vinland.

So they continued to crawl along the coastline, and grew increasingly frustrated when it seemed they were sailing in a circle to the south of Vinland. If they kept following the coast, they would end up sailing north again, to Vinland's island.

The crew all breathed a sigh of relief as the navigator finally noticed a change in the shape of the coastline, which now jutted outwards but allowed for passage south. Iceland insisted on following the coast for quite some ways, until they reached what could be considered a relatively temperate climate.

They landed in a wider bay than the previous one, and once again, Iceland stepped off onto the new land first. It didn't hold quite the same high symbolism as the previous landing, and he resisted the urge to spit bitterly on the ground. He settled for gripping his spear tightly, as thoughts of little Viking boys taunted his psyche. He gave no indication of his mental battle, although he seethed inwardly, and while the crew disembarked and hurried to build their first rudimentary shelters, he hurried into the forest, intent in the search for natives… or their personifications.

The routine continued for several months, although Iceland quickly gave up his obsession and committed to helping with important tasks that needed completion. Another settlement, much like Vinland, quickly sprouted from previously untamed land, and as it grew Iceland wondered why he had chosen to spend the summer here. It was much warmer than he was used to, and an amazing difference for someone so accustomed to the cold, but the longer he remained here the less defensible the decision became. If his ruse had not been discovered yet, it would eventually come to light that Iceland was neither at his home, nor in Greenland, nor in Vinland, and the Vikings would send out searches. He could not remain here to spite them, either; baiting more powerful nations always ended badly, and in the end, no matter how much he might want it, this place was also not his home.

More tribes had made themselves apparent as summer wore on, and while this meant communication, information exchange, and trade, it fueled Iceland's growing discontent with both himself and his brothers. The tribes had Tribes, much like the nations had Nations, and they cut intimidating figures, clearly wise and powerful and ancient as the land. They spoke to Iceland and Iceland spoke to them, using the language of nations universal to all of them, but a clear divide cut between them. Iceland would never really belong here.

It came to a head as summer began to give way to autumn and Iceland prowled the woods alone, hunting in order to keep the thoughts eating at him away. This venture had been a fool's errand, he could sense it, and in the end he wouldn't gain anything except punishment from his brothers for vanishing for a year… as if they hadn't disappeared for longer times before. Iceland was here, alone, a capable young man hunting for game to bring back to the village he had built so he could survive and grow powerful. In their culture he could be a man, but Norway and the others insisted on treating him like a child, after all these years.

In his frustration, he spooked the rabbit he had been stalking for some time now, and the creature scampered into the brush too fast to catch.

"Damn it!"

His spear punctured the heart of a tree as his anger boiled to a head. Iceland stood still for a few seconds, fuming, before letting out another short curse and kicking the tree for good measure. He paced restlessly, muttering a stream of profanity directed at everyone and everything, and then the thought that sitting down might help crossed his mind before being summarily dismissed.

Iceland did not register the rustling of foliage for several moments – something that would have disappointed Norway. The thought rekindled the anger slowly bubbling down, and Iceland whipped his head around to confront whatever it was.

… The rabbit.

The return of his skittish prey made him stop and shelve his anger temporarily. The youth stared at the rabbit and the rabbit seemed to stare back without a hint of the earlier fear that had sent it bounding away like Iceland had released it from his Hell. It was the surprise, and the bated breath, and the tension of the moment, that allowed him to suddenly sense it.

A _presence._

And he was about to turn his head to look for the _presence_ when all of a sudden, from behind the rabbit's twitching whiskers, a face made itself apparent.

The face belonged to an impossibly young child with Sweden's pale hair, Denmark's blue eyes, and an expression of curiosity and fear that Iceland recognized from his own days of infancy. His own dark expression morphed into one of pure surprise, and he barely dared to breathe, much less blink, for fear that the second he broke eye contact with the child, he would be gone with the wind.

The heartbeat of the forest continued around them for an eternal moment, and finally the infant colony seemed to lose his fear, fully stepping out from the bush he had hid in. He looked like Vinland, but besides the distance between the colony and here, Iceland noticed that this one's hair was a shade lighter, and his eyes shone true blue, as opposed to the quick glance Iceland had caught of Vinland's violet. A… a twin.

A _twin_.

A surge of emotion filled Iceland, leaving him momentarily dizzy with vertigo as he crouched on one knee. A twin. A twin. A _twin_. The colony he settled here was Vinland's _twin_ , proof of Iceland's colonization and vindication over his other brothers' conquests. A twin!

Then a second surge of emotion, something tender and somehow fiercely protective, had him extending a shaking hand toward the colony, which regarded him with more curiosity and less fear. And when a tiny hand reached up into the space between them to make contact, he grasped the child's hand firmly in his own as a second wave of vindication and redemption and _completeness_ settled into his heart and once again made him whole.

* * *

- _the present day-_

The slam of the SUV's doors jolted Iceland out of his memories, but thankfully he managed not to jump. Irritation passed over him, momentarily annoyed at himself for reminiscing so long. The others thought he had simply nodded off, still adjusting to the time zone, and he did not find it necessary to correct them.

When he climbed out of the vehicle and stretched his stiff limbs, America had already freed the larger camping gear from the trunk and set to getting everything unpacked. Molossia stood around, stamping his feet a little to keep warm and quite out of place camping, and Iceland hovered by the twins, examining their setup and wondering if he could do anything to help.

His answer came when America stood up, a determined expression in her gaze. "All right guys, this tent's pretty huge so let's each take a corner and make this work!" She grabbed the corner closest to her, while Canada maneuvered so he held the corner diagonal to hers. Iceland and Molossia wordlessly took each of the two remaining, and between the four of them the construction took no time at all. Molossia managed rather well and was clearly proud of that fact as he hurried to help Canada construct the fire pit and grill area they would use for cooking.

America dug into one of the side pouches in the heavy-duty bag and procured an anti-bug and -lice spray, practically emptied the entire can in their tent, and opened the flags wide to allow the tent to breathe in some fresh air. Iceland coughed and shielded his nose as the first wave of detergent-smell hit him, but something caught his eye and he stepped into the tent with America.

"A clear top?"

"Yeah!" she cheered. "I requested some modifications to a tent design. I think Finland actually came up with this idea, that igloo-village thing he has going on? I figured this would let us watch more without freezing our butts off," she grinned.

Iceland reached up to touch the clear film on the top of the tent and noticed with satisfaction that it was heavy, waterproof, and insulated. "Good idea."

America seemed pleased by his comment and strode out of the tent. "Then you're gonna like this one even more," she said, wrestling a shapeless bag out of the larger gear case. Rather than open it above the frozen ground, she ducked back in the tent and fiddled with the strings in there. "I had more modifications done to a sleeping pad. It's kind of heavy but thanks to the down and stuff it'll be soft to sleep on. And," she added, wagging a finger playfully, "it's not much, but if we supply a little power to it there are some heater pads in there that will warm up the whole thing. Not perfect, but better than nothing."

Iceland raised his eyebrows as a way of conveying his slightly-impressed reaction, and America chuckled. "All right, let's make sure Molossia hasn't set his eyebrows on fire."

Iceland grinned and stepped out with her. Thankfully, the forest had not ignited for the short time they had turned their backs. In fact, with Canada's instruction, the fire pit and the grill platform shaped up nicely.

At their northern latitude, however, night quickly began to fall, and America jumped to attention, alerting the others to her increased pace of preparations. Sleeping bags were quickly unrolled, stuffed with blankets, and placed inside the insulated tent. Molossia practiced building a strong campfire under Canada's watch. Emergency supplies were accounted for and placed in easily-reached locations. The generator – a backup in case they needed it – came out and was placed several feet away from the tent. The gasoline needed to power it ended up far away from the campfire, the car, and the generator. Food stores needed to stay in the SUV to keep curious forest fauna from prowling around the campsite, but America began throwing together a modest evening meal for the group, a shotgun slung over her shoulder. Iceland held his own with the preparations, quite used to the outdoors, and impressed that both twins were just as competent.

After everything had gotten set up, the nations collected their dinners and water bottles and sat around the campfire, enjoying the merciless roar of the flames and the biting cold at their backs. The darkness of night shrouded the desolate forest around them in haunt and mystery. Each of them could imagine a wolf, a bear, perhaps even an otherworldly creature lurking in every shadow, but rather than fill them (America and Molossia especially) with irrational fear, it felt more like anticipation for an adventure, bumpy though it might be.

So far away from light pollution, the Milky Way spread brightly above them, cosmic brilliance creeping into every corner of the night sky. The plane of the galaxy, from their microscopic vantage point on their microcosmic, beautiful world, tilted vertical; and the celestial construct seemed to raise a mighty, defiant arm into a void greater still. Thousands upon thousands of stars, too numerous to count or to name, twinkled in applause at the spectacle and waved down to their faraway neighbors on little planet Earth. Pale lunar light shone down on them strong enough to cast shadows, the chill of the air keeping all but thin wisps of clouds away. Night had fallen, but bathed in the light of a trillion stars it seemed more like one kind of day had made room for another.

The nations ate in silence and stared into eternity, the breath of the forest and the purity of space offering their souls momentary rest from their trivial, worldly concerned that demanded all their time and energy. Iceland watched as a stray meteor momentarily flared in the night sky, admitting to himself how much he needed this. He did not want for beautiful scenery like this in his own country, true, but even if his European brethren got together to do something like this, he doubted he would feel the exact same sense of rightness settle into his stomach as he did at that moment. Here, the differences between their nations meant nothing. Here, they were four people, gathered together under a vista of stars, paying homage to their common humanity and enjoying each other's company; small, yes, but warm and comforting.

He remembered then that you could make a wish upon a shooting star, and after only a moment's contemplation, he made one.

Eventually, though, fatigue demanded that the put out their fire and make their way back to their little shelter. The generator guzzled a little fuel, just enough to power the heating pads for a little, and the nations crept inside their sleeping bags, side by side. Since Canada and Iceland could deal with the cold somewhat better than America or Molossia, they took the outside bags while their southern companions remained nestled warm in the middle. They shifted and squirmed and settled as they draped a larger blanket over all four bags, and when they each found a comfortable position, America perked her head up, a very satisfied expression on her face as she contemplated her snuggly-warm burrito-status. "I'm having a good time so far, you guys!" she announced, and three voices muttered vague assent in response, all of them worn out by everything they had done today.

Though they lay down, they kept their eyes wide open for a little longer, watching faint rivers of aurora flow over head. It was not a spectacular light show – Canada said the latest report from his meteorologists placed the next big one in two nights' time – but it was still relaxing. One by one they nodded off, and Iceland, entranced by this clean feeling, was one of the last. As he rolled over in his sleeping bag, turning to face the inside of the group, he momentarily met America's gaze, and couldn't help but return a smile a little more tender than he bargained for.

Her eyes, like the stars, twinkled merrily.

* * *

End Chapter Six

* * *

1) Music! There is nothing wrong with the song Watch Me by Silento (if a bit uninspired) and I'll totally fight you if you say otherwise. Also, yes, I do find it incredibly hilarious to picture Norway rocking out to The Fox (maybe even shirtless).

2) Holy hamburgers, Batman, there's a lot of land in Canada. It's no wonder most of the population lives within a hundred miles of the States. I certainly wouldn't want to try maintaining a highway system that spanned all of Canada. And just how many lakes does the Northwest Territory _have_ anyway? I'm guessing one holyfuckton, because I stared at Google Maps wondering if Canada had perpetual acne for about five minutes. And on a somewhat related note, what was the rationale behind making random demarcations between Northwest Territories and Nunavut on random islands?

JUST BEFORE I POSTED THIS I DISCOVERED THE YOUTUBE CHANNEL Geography Now. The first episode I watched was Canada's. Y'all are impressive. And it was kind of awkward having Canada-U.S. relations described as "high school sweethearts".

3) In the past, Iceland has now met little America! Who, because she's so small and wrapped in furs, looks rather androgynous. I wonder which poor soul gets to make _that_ discovery.

4) Camping. I get to do it about once a year at most, in a large group, and never as far north as the Great Slave Lake (where they're camping). I am not an expert. Details shall be vague.

5) I'm also not a meteorologist and have no idea how to predict displays of the aurora borealis/australis or meteor shows and liberties shall be taken.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/America, possibly some others.

Friday, November 20, 2015: Foreshadowing is a wonderful thing. Stick to the end of the chapter if you want some minor badass!Iceland.

So my most popular story on this site just received its 200th review and I feel like celebrating... with more fanfiction. If anyone has any suggestions I'll bite.

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One Thousand Years More: Chapter Seven

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Light from the grey dawn woke them, but they kept to the warmth of their sleeping bags for a good hour, a crisp chill present in the rest of the tent despite their insulation. Finally, though, America volunteered to get breakfast started, and the slow process of waking and getting accustomed to the new day began. Iceland stretched stiffness out of his back. The padding beneath the bags had dampened most of the uneven surface of the ground, but not all.

When Iceland scrambled out of the tent, America already had a fire going and was reclined in a collapsible chair, cooking up pancakes on a small portable grill. She offered him a short wave as he approached. "You ever try Kool-Aid pancakes?"

An immediate wariness crept into his features as he considered the satanic mixture. "No."

"Well I'm making some for me! Canada hates it when I 'ruin his breakfast', so there's plain ones, but I'm making a few lemonade and fruit punch ones." It took all of Iceland's willpower not to tactically retreat on the spot. Instead, he opted for a neutral and noncommittal response. "I'll consider having one, then."

"Haha, yes, a new convert," America cackled, and then handed Iceland a carton of eggs. "Can you start scrambling or frying these on the second stove? Pancakes are good and all but eggs really hit the spot, especially since I brought jerky not bacon." The island nation took the carton wordlessly and got to work while America propped a coffee pot over the fire. They worked in silence for a couple of minutes, until America finally asked the question tugging at her. "Hey, Ice, are you having fun on this trip?"

It might have been America's word choice, or the softer voice she spoke with, but Iceland looked up and saw her regarding him thoughtfully. "Yeah," he replied simply, hoping that the sincerity came through in his voice.

America glanced at him, equal parts reassured and unsure. "That's good. I know I kinda sprung this on you back in January. 'Cause we are friends, but we never really hang out, and, uh, honestly?" she glanced up at the tent and saw Molossia crawl out, and lowered her voice, "you seemed kinda down."

Her honesty, and perceptiveness, made Iceland blink. Before Molossia could reach them, he looked down and focused on the eggs. "I was," he breathed.

"Hey, Molossia!" America grinned. "Mornin', sunshine!"

Molossia grumbled something that didn't sound too friendly, but offered a tired smile after a moment. He stamped his feet together and huddled deeper into his coat. "Anything left I can do?" he said, examining the quickly-growing breakfast spread. His eyes lit up at the lemonade Kool-Aid pancakes, much to Iceland's horror.

"Set the table~" America sang, handing Molossia some paper plates, Styrofoam cups, and plastic silverware. The micronation accepted them and set up the small collapsible table, eager to eat breakfast. Canada chose that moment to appear from the tent with a huge yawn. America laughed. "I can't believe you're up latest. I thought for sure it would be Molossia."

"Hey!"

"Kuma fussed at me all night," Canada protested, just as the accused polar bear poked his head out of the tent. "He wanted to go exploring in the middle of the night!"

"Sorry, Kuma. We're hiking today, though, so you have plenty of chances to run around. Catch us some fish while you do, eh?" America clucked her tongue at the diminutive polar bear, currently curled in a ball and rolling around on the ground. A vague sort of groaning growl was the only response she received until she whispered the magic word "pancakes". Both Kuma and Canada zipped to the table in the blink of an eye.

"Shit!"

Their sudden sprint had startled Molossia, because the place he had tried to set suddenly found itself full of bear. America laughed as the two Canadians demanded pancakes (real pancakes, Canada clarified, because those Kool-Aid abominations had been irrevocably tainted and no longer counted). She finished off the rest of the preparations for breakfast, and while she retrieved the coffee pot, Iceland doled out eggs for everyone.

"So, who wants to try some of my Kool-Aid pancakes~?" America sang again, waving her own in front of Iceland's face. He felt his eye twitch. Molossia seemed converted to America's sense of taste, which was England's, which was nonexistent. Canada and Kuma refused to so much as look at the pancakes. He was the only target. And he found himself right in the crosshairs of the most lethal weapon known to man: Puppy Eyes.

"… I'll try one," he said after a moment, accepting a small pancake that had been flavored lemonade. He took a small bite and blinked, both surprised and horrified that he did not think it terrible. America took the ambivalent reaction as victory and cheered. "Another convert!"

"You have to resist, Iceland," Canada called out, looking as though Iceland was drowning and needed to tread water while Canada found a life ring. Iceland smiled slightly while he rolled his eyes, and the four nations grinned and dug into their breakfasts. After Molossia had finished, he jumped right into the itinerary. "So, today we're hiking. Got anywhere in mind?"

"I'm letting Canada lead the way. He knows the turf best," America shrugged.

Canada offered only a secretive smile. "I think I'll surprise all of you with the scenery instead of giving you a heads-up about what to expect," he teased. Molossia made an annoyed sound, but thankfully, didn't look like he was about to start complaining. While Canada plotted with Kuma about which direction to go in, America slipped Iceland a fruit punch pancake. Iceland… did not _refuse_ it _._

That seemed to amuse her, because she smiled as she cleaned up her place. "All right boys, we've got a long day of hiking ahead of us but we have to have our campsite in tip-top shape! Can't have any wild bears taking all our food while we're out enjoying the scenery." She stood up and wiped some syrup off her hands onto her jeans, and began stuffing her used plates into one of the large trash bags from the truck. Iceland finished his own breakfast and began collecting all the leftover food to store in coolers that would be locked in the truck. Canada busied himself with putting out the fire and making sure nothing flammable could reignited the dying embers in their absence, and Molossia surveyed their campground for anything loose and anything that might attract wild animals. He found nothing, and settled for securing the tent against the outside. Once the campsite was deemed acceptable, America hefted a shotgun ("just in case", she reasoned) and Canada took the lead.

He headed for the lake just barely visible from their campgrounds, describing all the lakes in the Northwest Territories and how they peppered the land. Although spring had started to warm the land at this latitude, late March so far north meant that the forest was mostly quiet. The crunch of boots on frozen ground and fallen leaves broke the silence when conversation trailed off, as even Canada became so immersed in his wild lands that he settled for mute awe. Deciduous trees still wanting for summer leaves towered above them, their barren branches clawing into the grey sky, while conifers rose gracefully to meet the heavens, their evergreen needles fluffing out and lending glad blooms of green to the forest.

They reached the lake, and when they stopped, the only sound they could hear was the lapping of tiny waves at the water's edge. The shoreline wasn't spectacular; small, abrupt, and a tangle of branches and mud, the land seemed to slide into the lake, surrendering to the water. America gaped, amazed. "Dude, it's just like the Great Lakes, you can't see the other shore it's so big!" Canada opened his mouth to agree with her, but America immediately started hustling around, looking for stones to throw. Iceland smiled at the antics from the superpower. It was amazing how resilient and optimistic and carefree she could be, having a grand old time camping, heedless of the rest of the world.

Molossia found some rocks before she did and tossed one in a huge arc over the water until it landed on the surface. The ice on the surface split, and the rock sunk into the frozen depths. "It's frozen over anyway, America," he said, huffing that there would be no rock-skipping.

However, America frozen, staring at the lake transfixed. "… Dude, that's even better!" she hissed, and practically accosted Molossia trying to get the rocks from him. "Watch watch watch watch watch!"

She crouched into a ready position rather dramatically, holding a skipping rock in her right hand, ready to spring. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated the surface of the lake, and suddenly, she let her arm free like a spring, the rock sailing over the frozen lake. Gravity quickly brought it to bear, and the stone bounced over the lake for a good mile. Iceland blinked. She must have loaned the toss some of her strength.

More intriguing, however, was the sound the stone made at each skip along the frozen surface. If Iceland had not been watching her throw the rock, he would have starting looking for the bird making the warbling chirp he heard now. Molossia gaped after the rock, sunglasses drooping down his face, while America grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. "Holy shit!"

"Right?" she agreed, helping herself to another rock and letting it fly.

Molossia quickly secured a rock for himself and also let loose right after America's throw, and two birdsongs filled the lonely air, echoing for miles across the lake. Molossia's quickly growing grin, combined with America's muffled, conspiratorial giggling, had Iceland reaching for some more rocks from their pile and sending them out across the lake as well. It quickly devolved into a competition between the three of them over who could send their rocks the furthest, and Canada watched their antics with a fond, if not slightly exasperated expression. However, after watching their competition for a few minutes, a sly glint entered his eyes, and he crept off on his own.

His companions hadn't even noticed his disappearance until the rock he had fetched –a behemoth in comparison to the pebbles they skipped – soared over their heads and punctured the ice with a mighty bird's scream. A beat of silence followed the sound, and suddenly America doubled over laughing at the ridiculousness of everything. Canada and Molossia soon joined her laughter, and Iceland beamed infectiously. The frozen lake, the evergreens, the fog over the lake, the raw beauty of nature – nothing could ever compare to this, he thought, and nothing needed to.

* * *

 _-Circa 1000CE-_

He picked the child up and carried him back to the settlement, unsure of how strong the newborn personification was. The entire way back, Iceland had to struggle between watching the trail and gazing down into wide blue eyes amazed at everything around them. The thought that he now carried in his arms a newborn settlement, just as Norway had once carried him, made him sway with dizziness and no small amount of pride at his accomplishment. He began to sing a lullaby in his own language as the two returned to territory more familiar to Iceland, and adoring eyes watched him in fascination. As Iceland continued the lullaby in a subdued voice, the boy's eyes eventually glazed over with exhaustion and he slid into the realm of dreams.

The villagers celebrated (Iceland made them keep it quiet) when they met their sleeping personification, and while the rest of the men made merry, Iceland set up a small cradle for the child to sleep in and kept faithful vigil, staring down at his younger sibling, his muted violet eyes betraying none of his inner turmoil of emotion. Today he had become a true big brother with the acceptance of this colony. They would have a bond similar to the one Iceland shared with Norway, an older brother teaching a younger one about the world, and how to hunt and fight and stand up to winter's wrath. But even as those contemplations filled Iceland with contentment and nostalgia, a bittersweet thought pricked at him – he and Norway had a rift between them, now, in addition to the vast ocean separating their homes. This younger brother also had an ocean keeping Iceland apart from him, and if Iceland wasn't careful, he might also find himself distanced from this new child in time…

Another, more unpalatable thought crossed his mind then. Iceland wanted to be alone in the venture of raising this colony. His brothers, still camped at Vinland, had doubtless discovered this colony's twin; Iceland had lost out on the chance to be the sole older brother for both of them. But he had to be careful, because if he wanted to leave a purely Icelandic legacy on these islands, he needed to make sure his older brother did not follow him here. He wanted to raise a brother of his own; better, even, than Norway had raised him. There was nothing wrong with that, right? …And Norway… would acknowledge him for it, eventually...right? Would his older brother stop treating him like a child if he, too, raised a younger one?

The musings, both optimistic and guilty, warred within Iceland as the night went on and the new child slept, heedless of the chaos in the dark.

* * *

 _-the present day-_

Their hike took them miles from their campground, but even as their legs groaned with fatigue and their stomachs groaned with emptiness the nations found themselves craving more of the vistas untouched by a human hand. Mighty evergreens brushed the sky with their perpetual needles and filled the still air with a soft scent of chill and pine. The landscape boasted neither flat planes nor majestic mountains, but plenty of tall hilltops made it possible to trek up one knoll and suddenly find one's head poking up over a sea of green,staring miles in any direction.

On a couple of occasions the nations froze in place to watch a small herd of deer grazing in the distance or gracefully bounding across the shoreline. A sunless noon passed overhead but their fervor for the freshly-blazed trails convinced them to forego lunch and compensate in the evening with a hearty dinner. Iceland noticed America grin with almost a cutthroat smirk as the conversation wavered in that direction and raised an eyebrow in her direction. Her expression immediately morphed into the picture of innocence, but Iceland only responded by testing the limits of his eyebrow-raising muscles.

They continued enjoying the day until dusk began to fall, chasing each other between trees in spontaneous bursts of a game somewhere between tag and hide-and-seek with no official rules. It wasn't until Iceland heard crunching in the forest underbrush that definitely didn't belong to a human that he quieted down.

Molossia didn't seem to perceive the danger he did, still caught up in the game, with America whooping in the distance. "Hey, Iceland, get over here or Canada's going to find us and Kuma will get you!" he tried snarling in an attempt to cover up his entertainment. However, many years of danger had honed Iceland's senses, and the earlier enjoyment of the game had earned itself a backseat spot in his mind when the priority of _stay safe_ took the wheel. He all but sprinted over to Molossia and practically tackled the micronation from his perch at the base of a tree, just as a bear that definitely _wasn't_ Kuma stomped into the clearing in the exact spot where Iceland had paused only a few moments before. Iceland's attempt at staying small and keeping quiet might have saved them from the bear's notice, but Molossia, unused to such predators on his land, took one look at the beast and gave a strangled yelp.

The bear's eyes landed on them almost immediately, and Iceland narrowed his eyes as he saw the snout bobbing – their scents interested the bear. Well, wasn't that just _fantastic_.

"AMERICA!" Molossia howled, retreating as fast as his legs could carry him. Even acutely aware of the danger, Iceland allowed his eyebrow to quirk again, and wondered quickly if the family that had declared Molossia an independent micronation was Italian. He'd ask Molossia about it later.

As it stood, however, the bear had been spooked by Molossia's screech. Adrenaline now coursing through his veins, Iceland gauged the situation in half a second. For an instant his body still attempted to stick to his original plan – stay small and look uninteresting. However, the bear's own primal instincts urged it to take care of the threat, in the only way the animal knew how – fear. It roared, and began plowing through underbrush after Molossia, and, consequently, straight at Iceland.

Iceland, although he only had a Coast Guard, was an upstanding and classy nation, and both his will and the will of his people gave him more than enough strength to take on the bear, even without the adrenaline currently pumping blood at hyperspeed, absorbing minute details of the environment. He was descended from the ferocious Vikings, and a bear was nothing to make him quail at. The bear was almost upon him, and although he could take a mauling, Iceland didn't feel like getting his newly-knitted sweater dirty.

Just as the bear towered over him, claws ready to lunge, Iceland took advantage of his lithe form and slid under the bear's thick arms and popped up directly in between them. Before the bear could comprehend the change in position of his prey, Iceland had his knees bent and ready to take force. Both arms reached out until the flats of both his hands lay on the bear's unprotected chest, and, priming his body, gave a mighty shove.

The bear actually made air time and caused a tree to die before the disoriented creature landed and stirred up more underbrush. However, the ursine powerhouse had only been dazed by the toss, and now Iceland had really agitated it. However, the island nation had also not stuck around to gloat in the momentary victory. The second his hands were free of bear fur, he had taken off after Molossia. Handled correctly, he could deal with a bear, but a spooked micronation lost in uncharted forest was not a tactically wise variable to allow loose.

"Molossia!" Iceland shouted urgently. "Where the hell did you go?"

Wheezing a little ways on his right told him that the micronation had collapsed, panting, under a tree. "Where the hell did America and Canada go?!" he coughed, clutching his sunglasses with a shaky hand. "And where were you? And where's the bear?!"

"Finding America and Canada would also be a good idea. Because I might have pushed the bear. And I might have angered it." Iceland's voice was nonchalant, the adrenaline making the normally subdued nation slightly giddy.

Molossia paled, looking at something over Iceland's shoulder. "And it might hold a grudge," he whimpered.

Iceland grabbed Molossia's hand and dragged the micronation to his feet. "Then maybe let's move." The island nation scanned the surroundings quickly. Although Molossia was clearly frightened by the bear, Iceland wasn't sure he could count the micronation as completely unreliable if worst came to worst. However, he was also winded from his mad sprint, and the fear wasn't enough to give him a second wind just yet. Running more would disorient them, and although they each had a satellite phone, getting lost in the Northwest Territory appealed to neither of them. Iceland spotted their only viable option, and ushered Molossia towards it. "Look, hurry!"

The sight of the tree, with branches low enough to the ground, caused Molossia to sag with relief as he rushed to the tree and climbed up the branches with surprising agility. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he suddenly looked up at Iceland, climbing next to him, with a dubious look on his face. "Bears can climb though, right?"

"We're smaller and faster, that bear is slow and heavy. Keep climbing. It won't come where the branches are thick or weak."

Molossia seemed about to back out, anyway, but the bear was now prowling around the tree base, glaring up at them, and stayed in the branches. "What are we going to do if it doesn't go away?" he whispered, his eyes never leaving the dark form. He glanced up into the dusky sky. "It's getting dark."

"We have our satellite phones, Iceland reassured him. The calmness with which he spoke surprised even Iceland himself. The adrenaline had subsided when they had passed the twenty-foot mark in the tree, and Iceland assumed it was his penchant for extreme sports that had him feeling more amused about the whole debacle than anything. Molossia, however, did not share his sanguine ease, so Iceland continued, "and America has her-"

 ** _BANG_**

"…shotgun," Iceland finished, as a well-placed bullet to the head caused the bear to crumple lifelessly to the ground.

The two sat still on the tree branches for a moment more, before Molossia tentatively began to climb down. Iceland, in much better condition, easily slipped between branches until his feet touched the ground and saw Canada and America approaching. They seemed engaged in a mild argument, probably over whether or not shooting the bear had actually been necessary.

Before the debate could escalate, Molossia landed shakily and launched himself at America until she was wrapped in a hug. "Where the hell were you?!" Molossia demanded again.

America didn't seem perturbed in the slightest at tough-guy Molossia suddenly hugging her for all he was worth. In fact, she seemed mildly amused by it, as she returned the gesture easily. "Hey, dude, I'm sorry you thought I left ya. Kuma found these two cubs, and Canada and I knew that the mother had to be nearby – which meant we were in a bit of danger. We got the cubs scurrying off to their mom, and we watched the three of them run off, but then we heard you yell bloody murder. I guess there was a male bear looking for someone to court," she said, examining the slowly-cooling corpse.

Now that the danger passed, Molossia flushed with embarrassment at his fear. "I didn't yell bloody murder. I just knew you could handle it," he protested.

Iceland watched the exchange, the impact of America's earlier words coming back to him. _The micronation was actually quite tender, but buried it under his harsh exterior…_

That sounded... a little too familiar to him. A little too close for comfort.

He debated on his choice of words, and then piped up, interrupting America's attempts to reassure the spooked nation. "Molossia… do you hunt often?"

Unfortunately, the micronation was still prickly about his earlier conduct, because his cheeks bloomed brilliant red, he leveled a vicious glare at Iceland, and he spat out, "No, you got a problem with that?!"

"Molossia!" America hissed in reprimand.

"Why don't we all spend tomorrow like we're on a shooting range? Just for fun?"

The reactions to Iceland's proposal came instantly and loudly.

"Are you saying I can't aim?!-"

"Iceland, I'm not so sure that's a good idea…"

"Dude, I'm all for range time, but there's no range, and I'm already getting grief for this bear."

He tried to keep himself from snapping in impatience as he responded. "I meant... we could shoot at trees and hold contests to see who can shoot furthest or something. That way the noise would keep away any large animals, and we'd be in a group the whole time." The three were silent at the explanation. Molossia, still embarrassed but somewhat mollified, seemed to consider the suggestion, while a strangely competitive gleam had entered the twins' eyes. They locked gazes for a long second before turning back to Iceland.

It surprised Iceland when Canada was the one who answered, in a voice both polite and determined. "That sounds like a fun idea after all, Iceland. I like it."

"Me, too," America chuckled with a foreboding tone. "But for now…."

She hefted the entire bear over her shoulder. "Who wants some dinner?"

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End Chapter Seven

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1) Camping fun. The thing that sticks out in my mind every year is how I'll be shivering in sweats at 7:00am for breakfast in 55F/12C degrees but by noon I'll be sweating under the sun when the temperature spikes to 90F/32C. There usually are Kool-Aid pancakes on these trips, and yes I do like them.

2) If you're wondering about the stone-skipping sound, look on Youtube for DudeLikeHELLA's video _COOLEST SOUND EVER_.

3) I noticed that I've been using a shorter version of Kumajirou's name. It's because I used an online Inuit-English dictionary and found that the word "Ikkuma" means "fire", and thought that sounded cool. I also personally enjoy the fanon that Kuma is actually Nanuq, the spiritual polar bear master.

4) I enjoyed giving Iceland a heaping spoonful of badass in this chapter and hope to get into extreme sports later. Now I feel bad for making Molossia look wimpy.

5) Oh, what fun tomorrow shall bring...


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, 27 November 2015: Overall, this chapter probably has the most character development so far. So, that's progress.

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One Thousand Years More: Chapter Eight

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The four nations slept soundly through the night, and half of the morning that followed. Between the excitement of the bear chase, America's takedown of said bear, and subsequent proposal to eat aforementioned said bear for dinner, which was then followed by actually preparing some of it to eat, all of them barely had enough energy to prepare their evening meal, scarf it down, preserve the rest of the body, and crawl into their tent for the night.

Even so, Iceland knew that all four of them shuffled in their sleeping bags for quite some time after officially turning in. Canada still seemed bothered by shooting the animal, even though he conceded that they had both eliminated the threat and made good use of the kill. It might have had something to do with Kuma, because he carried on the quietest conversation with the diminutive polar bear that Iceland could ever recall hearing – it seemed to ease Canada's ruminations, though, so Iceland left it alone.

Molossia clearly had a chip on his shoulder from the day's excitement. He had screamed and run, while Iceland had gauged the situation, led Molossia to safety, and even attacked at one point, all with a level head. Molossia perceived cowardice within himself, and compounded with his status as a micronation not recognized by anyone else in a legally binding fashion, Iceland knew that the chip on his shoulder dug deep, weighed a ton, and bled freely. The feelings of unease at the unexpected parallels between himself and Molossia kept Iceland up that night, too, although the hypothetical conjectures of camaraderie with Molossia occupied only part of Iceland's thoughts.

America also lay in her sleeping bag, keeping still but not breathing deeply or evenly enough to be asleep. Iceland didn't risk a glance at her and couldn't tell what she was thinking. He doubted it had anything to do with Canada's disagreement with her, because she was America and when she didn't outright fail to notice these things completely she brushed them off instead. Molossia might have been on her mind, because she _did_ care about him in some sort of younger sibling/close cousin/neighbor kind of way, but Iceland couldn't tell.

He wondered if he was on her mind at all. The morning seemed like such a long time ago, but Iceland remembered that she admitted to inviting him along not just because he was there at the time, not just because of some form of politeness, but because he had seemed down. America had no way of knowing that before all of the flights home, he had a disagreement with his brother and the rest of the Nordics that put him in one of his melancholies, but she _had_ noticed his brooding and tried to cheer him up. It heartened him, to know she cared, even just a little.

Then he remembered how he had freely admitted to her that she had been correct. Were it not for Molossia and Canada waking up, she might have continued into a serious conversation with him over what was bothering him. Having someone to listen to him… sounded nice.

He fell asleep long after the rest of them, wondering what had been, what could have been, what was, what might be. He thought about going on more trips like this. He considered asking America if she would like to see the Icelandic countryside sometime. He dreamed of long-lost days, and he slumbered through the night and well past the next dawn.

* * *

He woke up last in the morning, though the others didn't have much of a head start on him. In fact, Canada and Molossia both beat America out of bed. It was their banter over pancakes that got America squirming out of her sleeping bag, and her shifting caused Iceland to stir.

"Morning, sleepy," she yawned hypocritically. Her smile shone like sunrise.

"Hey," he replied, subdued as normal.

America blinked, and regarded him carefully. Iceland didn't meet her gaze head-on, wondering what she saw in his hunched posture and dull violet eyes. She stayed silent for a moment before she spoke, keeping her voice down. "Hey, is something wrong? Is it the bear yesterday?"

Iceland shook his head. "I was fine. I've handled worse." _You know that._

America nodded. _I do._

They sat together in silence for another long moment, the sounds of Canada and Molossia tentatively holding conversation muted in their minds. Iceland chanced a glance at America and found her examining her sleeping bag, staring into space. The thought made him feel like he should take a gambit… but still he hesitated.

Yet he prided himself on engaging in extreme sports. He no longer hesitated to fling himself into volcanoes, with only a strip of cloth and some string to save him from the magma. He hopped onto mountain bikes and launched himself down his craggy slopes without regard for his well-being sometimes. He went parasailing on the stormy oceans, skateboarded along cliff-side roads, even explored caves that could collapse and leave him trapped for months. Something about the thrill made him reckless, and he mustered up the courage to do the same here.

"America… can we talk?"

She blinked, coming out of her stupor with a surprised expression. "Uh, yeah, sure. What about?"

"Just us," he said, letting his eyes flick to the tent wall, beyond which he could hear Canada teasing Molossia about his penchant for "impure" pancakes. "Maybe tonight if they go to sleep first. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe… another time." The longer he spoke, the further the momentary confidence he felt slip away.

Some sort of understanding flashed through her eyes for a brief second, and her head bobbed shortly. "All right," she whispered, and then hauled herself out of the sleeping bag. She stormed out of the tent, all one thousand percent of her enthusiasm present, as she bellowed, "Y'all better have breakfast ready because I am starving!"

Iceland remained seated for another moment before slowing crawling out of the sleeping bag himself. He straightened the tussled bags and ran a hand through his hair as the magnitude of what he had just asked came crashing down on him. Now it was like watching a cresting wave tower over him. It could overtake him and gently pull him under the water… or all come crashing down.

They spent the entire morning taking turns with the firearms America had brought with her on the trip; she had only two rifles, but ammo to spare. Iceland got to test out some skills he hadn't recently put to use, America got to have some of her typical fun, and Canada enjoyed showing off his aim, which was, admittedly, impressive. Iceland watched Canada go for targets further and further away and idly wondered, between Finland's legendary sniper skills and Canada's current status as second place record-holder for furthest sniper shot, who would win in a contest between the two of them.

The thought quickly devolved into a nightmarish paintball scenario between the two of them, with Finland and Canada both butting heads on an obstacle course to determine who between the two of them claimed superiority, and Iceland withered at the thought that in such a situation he would end up coated head to toe in paint from one or both of them while they carried on for their prized title. He shuddered.

Canada raised his eyebrow. "Are you cold, Iceland?"

"No, just…" Well, wasn't _this_ a pretty pickle. He couldn't pretend he was cold because quiet, observant Canada wouldn't buy it. And he couldn't think of any sort of lie fast enough that would explain his sudden chill. "I thought of what would happen if you and Finland had a sniper contest. It was terrifying."

America, who had been helping Molossia improve his aim, paused and looked up. Her mild confusion gave way to trepidation when she noticed that Canada had a thoughtful gaze and a dark gleam in his eyes. "I suppose you're right…" the usual laid-back nation muttered distantly, contemplating with a finger on his chin. Though he tried to appear demure, his lips twitched into a menacing grin for a fraction of a second.

Iceland blinked, heart pounding. Great. Well, now that he'd opened his fat mouth… "We're fucked."

America laughed nervously. "I'd recommend staying far away when this little competition happens, Iceland…" she warned. Iceland glanced back at Canada, only to find him crouched with Kuma and completely absorbed in a hushed, lightning speed conversation that seemed to focus on battle tactics. He nodded, outwardly appearing much more stoic than he felt, and turned to admire the peaceful lake scenery to clear his mind. As America returned to helping Molossia, he wondered if Canada and Finland really would start something, and debated whether or not to warn Sweden about the impending doom.

His hand closed around the satellite phone in his pocket, and just as quickly as he grabbed for the device, he released it.

Sweden didn't know about this trip he was on. Neither did Finland, Denmark, or Norway, for that matter. And of course, he hadn't told Greenland, Faroe, or Åland, because why would he? But, he knew that the second he told any one of them, it would only be a matter of time before the rest found out. As it stood, Iceland knew that eventually they would learn about this trip, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to their reactions.

He contemplated that a little more as he watched his fellow campers. What, exactly, was he so afraid of their reactions for? His mind immediately supplied Norway, overprotective brother extraordinaire, but he set that aside for the time being. The autonomous regions probably wouldn't care, except that they might have wanted to come along. Nothing to be alarmed at. Finland might have some mild concerns, but he would definitely take this trip the best out of all of them, happy that Iceland was branching out and having a good time. Sweden would be the same, but less open about it and also slightly more concerned. Denmark would probably tease him if nothing else, but he would make sure that Norway knew. And Norway…

… Wouldn't _explode_ , that was true. He might feel annoyed that Iceland hadn't bothered to check in with him, or ask his opinion on the trip. He may have wanted to join them, to keep an eye on Iceland if not to satisfy his own penchant for long trips in the great outdoors. But Iceland hadn't wanted him to come because he wanted to do his own thing and not feel eclipsed by the rest of the older Nordics, and he didn't want his brother to come because it would feel like babysitting more than anything, and if they tried to bond on a trip like this…

The thought struck Iceland like lightning. Norway was _trying too hard._

This realization, and the subsequent realizations following on the heels of the first, nearly caused him to stumble. Norway enjoyed cajoling him and pressured for a brotherly bond because he really _wanted_ it, but his own subdued nature prevented him from conveying himself in a way that Iceland could receive well. And Iceland… he _did_ want to call Norway a brother, and he _did_ want someone to look up to, someone with whom he could share everything and depend on when times got tough, but he wanted that without the weight of that someone constantly looking down on him in return. He wanted recognition as an adult, and the epiphany seemed so childish as he tried to mentally verbalize it all that he felt like Sealand for a guilty and embarrassing second, who always loudly demanded acknowledgement.

He considered the micronation Molossia, whose handiness with firearms had markedly improved over the past couple of hours. America crouched alongside him, mirroring his stance and using her gloved hands to gently guide Molossia's into the proper position. Both stared at whatever distant target Molossia set his sights on with a determined gleam. That America now tutored others brought a powerful memory back to the forefront, when Iceland had stood where America did now and America crouched anxiously in Molossia's place, her uncertain hands wrapped around the handle of a bow while Iceland demonstrated the proper techniques for firing.

Lakewater lapped quietly in the present. The forest whispered mysteriously in the past. A child learned, the adult taught. And Iceland was caught in the middle, with a chasm opening up between him and everything else.

 _We_  
 _find also in the sound a thought,  
hearing it by this distant northern sea.  
_

Eager to stem the sudden flow of emotion, one he had hopes to escape by joining in on this trip, he checked his satellite phone. So far no one had called him. It no longer gave him any sense of relief. He felt alone… again. As an island nation he had no immediate neighbors, no one he could see every day. The world seemed to pass him by all the time.

And sometimes, it crushed him.

"All right, guys, let's take a lunch break!" America suddenly crowed, and Iceland steeled his mask of indifference. Molossia followed America back to the campsite, but Canada and Kuma tagged along quite a ways behind them. Iceland paid it no mind, thinking them too absorbed in their sniper competition plans to notice much else, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up when Canada pulled out his satellite phone. The docile nation looked through it for a moment, even took the time to compose a reply to someone… then he put it away.

Iceland's danger meter went from _Oh Shit_ to _RUN AWAY_ , and while he tried to extinguish the sudden inferno of paranoia in his mind, he quickly hurried to the table where America was serving up some more preserved bear meat and some of the food they had packed for the trip.

"So I was thinking," America mumbled around a mouthful of food after they all sat down, "why don't we have fish for dinner? I brought all the stuff we'd need."

"America, we already have all of this bear…" Canada looked put out.

"Yeah, but fishing is nice! And I want to take Molossia on a one-on-one hunting trip- Just a goose or something!" she squawked at Canada's glare, raising her hands in front of her as if to defend herself against unspoken accusations. "So yeah, me and Molossia hunt, you and Iceland do some fishing? That would be cool, right?"

The other three didn't seem to buy it, and all of them stared at her in confusion. Privately, Canada and Molossia were wondering why she wanted to spend alone time with the micronation, while Iceland was wondering why she didn't want to spend alone time with _him_.

But she just shrugged off their reactions. "Bro, if you want to have your sniper contest with me while they fish you could just say something. I just think it would be nice to have some fish with the bear. Doesn't have to be anything grand." As if to press the point, she shoveled down the rest of her food and went for seconds.

Still, the others remained silent, and America continued eating, until Canada finally spoke. "Well, since apparently I'm going to challenge Finland to a sniper competition, I'll just have to use you as a warm-up."

America stabbed her plastic fork into her slice of bear meat, and it shattered from the force. She grinned wickedly, but amusement more than anything else twinkled in her gaze. "Oh, you're gonna eat your words, brother dear," she drawled, initiating a staredown as Canada smirked back.

Molossia leaned toward Iceland. "Should we be afraid?"

"Yes," Iceland whispered. "Very."

* * *

The twins seemed caught up in their competition, and Molossia and Iceland, neither of whom wanted to get caught between them when their competition involved firearms, decided to heed America's suggestion and go fishing. However, since one of the two nations had no land borders and the other had no water borders (or any water at all, actually), Molossia once again needed coaching for this outdoor activity, provided in the form of an ambivalent Iceland. Molossia did not look particularly pleased by this state of affairs.

He didn't have much time to complain, as the twins were off like a shot once they got their lunch cleaned up, leaving Iceland and Molossia to stand around awkwardly before collecting the fishing gear and making their way to the lake. They sat down at the edge of the water, and Iceland began to explain the basics of fishing to Molossia. The micronation was still clearly miffed, but listened to Iceland describe the equipment, the basic techniques, and the things he found useful. When it came time to put the rod in his hands, though, he broadcasted apprehension.

"Even I had to start somewhere," Iceland offered as means of reassuring him. Given how foreign Molossia was to him, and how closed off both of them were, that was the best pep talk Molossia was going to get from him. It didn't seem to have an effect at first, but Molossia sized the island nation up, considered Iceland's history – longer than either Canada's or America's – and decided that, helpful or not, it was true. So Molossia set his jaw and cast his line, his mindset an amalgam of Sparta and Confucius.

They practiced for almost two hours, occasionally catching snippets of gunshots, unintelligible yelling, and what sounded suspiciously like falling trees. Despite his determination, Molossia began growing irritated as the second hour gave way to the third, and was seconds from shoving the rod back into Iceland's hands before he suddenly set it in his lap and folded his hands, and contemplated the ground in front of him.

"..hm? What's wrong?" Iceland had a pretty good idea what, but proceeded with caution.

It took Molossia almost a full minute to speak up. "This whole stupid trip… I feel so outclassed!" he all but shouted, slamming his fist into the ground at his side. He breathed heavily for another long moment before composing himself. "I came on this trip because America asked me to, and I thought coming along might make her acknowledge me. And maybe… I thought it might be fun. _Maybe_. But all I have is a house and a yard in the middle of a desert, and all three of you know more about camping, and hunting, and fishing than I do! And it… it makes me feel… like shit. Fuck!" he growled, running his hands through his gelled hair, clearly beyond caring whether or not he messed it up.

Even if he had expected it, the outburst still surprised Iceland. Molossia didn't seem the kind to just divulge his mind, especially since he clearly knew Iceland the least. But maybe, the impartial distancing of strangerdom made it easier to speak to the faraway island than the nation that encompassed him.

And, maybe it was the need to speak his own mind that convinced Iceland to open up, or maybe it was his craving for more friendship, but Iceland returned Molossia's honesty with his own.

"...When I'm with the other Nordics… with Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Norway… they all treat me like I'm thirteen. I've been alive for over a thousand years, but they've been around just a _little bit longer_ , so sometimes I feel like I'm Sealand," he spat, and simultaneously felt a deep twang of guilt for the sea fort. "Hell, the last time they threw me a surprise birthday party, Finland said I was allowed drink alcohol because I had guardians with me, and Norway still insisted that I stick to milk." He brought his knees up to his chest and burrowed his chin into his knees, frowning at the lake as though it had caused all his problems, determinedly not making eye contact with Molossia.

Silence settled over the lake as each of them wandered their respective mazes of thoughts. Neither knew what to say to the other, but the silence held a sort of quiet brotherhood, a minuscule solidarity. Molossia had a chip on his shoulder in the shape of his inferiority complex. Iceland shared it. Molossia didn't want to be judged by Iceland, a nation looking down on a micronation. Iceland didn't want to judge. Both of them just wanted to feel like the people around them accepted and appreciated all of them for who they were.

Finally, Molossia spoke up. "Well… these fish won't catch themselves," he muttered. "So… maybe I could learn by demonstration?" he held out the rod.

Iceland offered him a small smile, and slowly, described his fishing technique move by move.

They caught two fish and decided that, while not prize-winners, they would suit their purposes, and the two nations went back to the campsite, with Iceland describing the cleaning and gutting to an attentive, and much more receptive, Molossia. One fish was ready for cooking and the other ready to be cleaned by Molossia's hands under Iceland's watch, when Iceland's phone suddenly rang.

Both of them glanced down at his coat pocket in trepidation before Iceland tugged out the angry device. A familiar number lit up the display.

Norway's.

Iceland's deadpan split the air. "Damn it."

He did not answer the phone, even when Norway called again during dinner.

* * *

Night had fallen, and Canada proclaimed that the best of the aurora would shortly appear overhead, both tonight and tomorrow night. The nations boded their time waiting for the northern lights by roasting marshmallows over their fire, making smores, and, in the case of Canada and America, sharing some of the ancient Native folklore of their lands. America giggled that it felt like they were telling ghost stories, but quickly quailed at Canada's suggestion to do just that.

Evidently he was still preening his victory.

The torment came to an abrupt end as Molossia's eyes flickered upward and widened. "Holy shit!" he intoned, feeling very, very small. Iceland, America, and Canada all followed his gaze, all of them familiar with the celestial lights, but always rendered speechless in total awe.

Far above the evergreen treetops, a wave of pale blue began to creep across the sky. The swell moved slowly, unobtrusively, and carrying the power of the inevitable as it swallowed the array of stars in the backdrop as the color deepened to a rich, bright green. The light above them seemed to breathe as it bloomed to life and enveloped the entire sky, before slowly narrowing, wriggling like a monstrous insect all the while. Before their very eyes, smaller swaths of light flickered into existence, flanking the leading green stream. They appeared, solitary and lonely at first in the starry expanse, but one by one more materialized in the night. From the baby blues and grass greens a thousand colors suddenly erupted; rich reds, blushing magentas, golden yellows, electric violets, and shy lavender.

The northern lights above them rose vertical to meet the edge of space, a celestial fire that sparked in rainbow along every inch as it burned its way across the sky. The streams of light flowed overhead, dancing like rivers that met new partners and swelled to unbelievable size before parting ways and branching off into graceful tendrils. They flared like lightning, jumping from one point in the sky to the next like oversized electric sparks, spontaneous and dangerous. They flitted from one eddy to the other, as though a deity had swathed a paintbrush in stardust and dipped the bristles in the wind, letting the trails of color stream away into the darkness. The small figures below watched, entranced, as the overwhelming beauty cavorted across the sky, like a multitude of angels on a pilgrimage to some holy cosmic paradise, like an ethereal war company marching with certainty into battle, their sworn purpose to defend the multitudes of meek but precious lives dotting the ground below.

They watched for hours as the electromagnetic fireworks flaunted the wild and untamed beauty of the North, putting any display America hosted to shame. The atmospheric collision, born of radiation and unimaginable heat and brought to a climax by the pitting of the sun's fury against the planet's invisible magnetic shield, held violence in every spark and danger in every bright stream of color. But the coitus of earth and space; the elegant splendor the sky's breathing, screaming, singing; commanding the attention of everyone below with polar ferocity and incomparable pulchritude, captured every heart who saw it because the Northern Lights boldly declared what no human would: **_this is what it means to live!_**

They watched so long that their necks grew sore and stiff from craning and the tears froze and dried on their cheeks. They wanted to watch the aurora borealis until the end of the world.

Reluctantly, the four of them heeded the call of their sleeping bags one by one. Canada was, surprisingly, first to fold. He promised them that the next night would bring a spectacle just as wondrous, before crawling into the relatively warmer tent.

By now Iceland had started returning to himself, glancing every so often between America and Molossia. Neither seemed to show any signs of fatigue. So he kept watching, waiting, hoping that Molossia would turn in next so maybe, if America was up for it, they could have their talk. Unfortunately, Iceland realized, this was Molossia's first time seeing the aurora in person, and the lights had him thoroughly hypnotized with their siren song. And when he eventually remarked about his discomforts, America reminded him that their tent had a clear top, and Molossia hustled back to the tent. Iceland's gaze followed him, and when he turned back to the fire, he found America's eyes on him, a serious expression on her face.

He hated himself for retreating as he got to his feet, stretched, and muttered a pathetic, "Tomorrow."

* * *

End Chapter Eight

* * *

1) 2am, hot chocolate, Northern Lights Youtube videos, and **purple prose**. Fantastic combination, I must say. Writing it was fun, reading it was painful.

2) A Canadian sniper currently holds second place for longest shot behind a British sniper.

3) Very character development, such deep. Iceland's becoming friends with America and Molossia and even Canada, sorting out his conflicting feelings over his brother and bros, and maturing! Now if only I could get the rest of the Nordics on screen.

4) Whenever I think of the autonomous regions of the Nordics, I can only picture the Scandinavia and the World gang. It makes for some interesting mental images.

5) Poetry! It's not my favorite thing in the world, but honestly, Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold is one of my favorites and I felt it really captures how alone Iceland feels.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, 4 December 2015: Here's another weekly update. I have the next couple of chapters already written because I know my life for the next two weeks will cease to exist due to finals. Hopefully my "recharging" period won't take too long, but I'm just giving a heads-up about potential irregularity of updates.

My thoughts are with the people of Georgia, Colorado, and California, and other states at this time, as well as with the victims of other mass shootings this week that have not attracted national attention.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Nine

* * *

Tomorrow took forever to arrive and came far too soon.

Iceland felt himself pulled from the warm embrace of sleep with a foreboding feeling, and it took America sleepily shifting next to him to remember where he was and why he didn't want to wake up. He tried not to sigh and bring attention to himself, and slowly reached into his pocket for his satellite phone. Norway, several time zones ahead of them, had called him two more times.

He feigned sleep as America sat up, stretched as unobtrusively as she could, and inspected her fellow campers. Neither Canada nor Molossia seemed aware of her wakefulness, so she shimmied out of her sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent. Iceland lay very still and listened for several minutes. A crackling fire began to roar over America's breakfast preparations.

He bit his lower lip and swallowed down the nausea he felt and slowly climbed out of his own sleeping bag. When he poked his head out of the tent, America had the coffee warming over the fire, some pancakes on the grill, and a bowl of what he assumed to be bear and fish stew bubbling merrily. She herself lazily dangled a spit over the flames to roast the speared marshmallows it held, and made herself a quick pre-breakfast smore.

She waited until he wandered over and sat himself in a collapsible chair without a word before she spoke up. "Mornin'."

"Morning…" he muttered, examining the misty dawn settling over the forest. He reached for some smore ingredients out of a desire to occupy his mouth with something other than words, more than hunger. However, America took advantage of the silence to press the issue.

"So… you wanted to talk. Is something wrong, Iceland?" she asked, gently enough that her voice wouldn't carry over to the tent. However, the island nation had a mouth full of marshmallow and no inclination to speak, his earlier compulsion to open up all but gone. That is, until she pulled out her own satellite phone. "It is Norway?"

Iceland felt like a mouse backed into a corner by a devious cat. He munched on his marshmallow for another minute, not quite sure how to broach the subject.

"Because my phone woke me up this morning, and I didn't recognize the number except for the Norwegian area code," America continued lightly. "And then he called me again an hour later. And I know I heard your phone ring at least once." Iceland steeled himself for an inquisition, and he readied his biting responses, but all of a sudden America switched tacks. "England's a nag sometimes, too."

 _But he has my best interests at heart_ went unspoken. It wouldn't have placated Iceland and both of them knew that. America settled for getting up and preparing the coffee and cleaning up enough things so that packing later wouldn't take too long. Finally, Iceland spoke up. "Why did Norway call you?"

America paused a moment before answering. "Well, yesterday when Canada and I were trying to outdo each other, he called Finland to challenge him to the sniping contest. And since he explained where we were and what we were doing, I can only assume Finland passed it through the grapevine that you're here."

"Figures," Iceland muttered darkly. He sighed, and, since he did not want America to think his ire was aimed at her twin, he hesitantly explained. "They all still treat me like a kid sometimes. Not just a younger sibling, but like someone who can't get on a flight, or have a drink, or do anything by himself. It… it just makes it really hard to be around them, sometimes," he admitted, and feeling guilty for his secret emotions.

He got no response from America, although she seemed to have listened and wanted to think about what to say. After a minute, she sat back down, a steaming thermos in her hands. She gestured for Iceland to take his own if he wanted some, and once his hands were busy, she replied.

"So, they're not treating you like an adult. Like you're an independent nation," she mused. "That is… actually _really_ demeaning. That's surprising to me, coming from them. Do you know if they _mean_ for it to be like that?"

Iceland shook his head, refusing to meet America's gaze.

"Well, maybe you should talk to Norway about it," America coaxed. "He cares about you enough to change how he shows it, right?"

"Y-yeah," he whispered.

Once again, America did not reply right away. Iceland jumped when her hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, and he found himself pinned by an empathetic gaze. "If it's easier to call him before you talk to him, you should do that before you meet with him. I don't know if you'll want someone with you when you do that, but if you need me, I'm here."

She smiled, pat his shoulder, and then retreated to her own seat. Iceland was silent for a long moment before nodding. "Thanks… America."

"Of course, dude. We're friends. And friends have each others' backs."

The conversation subsided after that, and it left Iceland feeling like so much more still needed to be said. He wanted to talk about the old times, about their distant friendship, about family, about life and about how lost he felt at the moment. He even wanted to talk about Molossia more. But, while he stewed in silence and America tried to figure out how to concoct bear bacon ("Bearcon, ugh, that sounds awful…"), the micronation woke up and poked his head out of the tent. He yawned and stretched as he made his way over to them. "Morning, guys," he said, appearing much more relaxed than Iceland had ever seen him. He zeroed in on the satanic pancakes and helped himself to a miniature stack. "Canada's up, but Kuma started complaining about something… I think it had something to do with salmon? Anyway, yeah."

America laughed. "Great way to wake up, eh?"

Molossia rolled his eyes as Canada crawled out of the tent with Kuma in his arms. The bear loudly demanded a pancake sacrifice with a generous helping of maple syrup, so Iceland stayed away from the pastries and sampled some of America's "bearcon".

Hm. Not bad.

They spent breakfast discussing their plans for the final night of camping: a bonfire to put any normal one to shame (without causing a gigantic forest fire). The possibility of leaving the woods intact diminished when America revealed that she had brought some firecrackers and sparklers for the event. Molossia looked excited, and Canada anything but.

Canada had the most experience with bonfires out of all of them, and explained how to get a good one going. It would take lots of buildup, and then lots of consistent fueling in order to work. The northern nation took charge, adamant that he protect his forests against any more incidents like the bear, and divided the responsibilities between them. He and Molossia would find good sized branches in the woods and bring them back to America. America would cut them to the right sizes for bonfire construction near the campsite, while Iceland cleared an area of flammable materials near the edge of the lake to minimize fire hazards. Satisfied with their tasks (albeit with a bit of muttering on America's part), they split after breakfast in order to make the most of their limited daylight hours.

Iceland worked quickly, wanting to capitalize on the opportunity of an extended chance to discuss things with America. He selected a sturdy spot by the edge of the lake and demarcated a ring with a ten-foot radius near the edge. He cleared the area of dead and dry plant matter, collecting it all in a pile that could be used to start the flames. Afterwards, he solidified the fire pit with rocks from the shoreline as well as some mud, just as an added precaution. They didn't have much in the way of buckets or fire extinguishers, and Iceland spent half an hour examining the surroundings with a critical eye, devising plans for quickly extinguishing the fire should it get out of control. He found his solution in the form of an aging tree; if things got too dangerous, America could use it to ram the bonfire and send the burning construct tumbling into the lake. Swift and efficient.

He went over to share his idea with her, and heard music blaring the closer he came. When he rounded the tent, his eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline.

America had some rock playing while she trimmed the branches down into sturdy logs, and was dancing as though she didn't care who watched her. She was swaying back and forth with some headbanging mixed in, but on occasion she threw her whole body into it and bounced to the beat. It took her a full five minutes to notice Iceland, and when she did, she turned a brilliant shade of red, laughed a little too loudly, and slowly came to a halt. She skipped over to the portable radio and lowered the volume, but kept the music going. "Hey, there, Icey! Didn't see you, heheh…"

Iceland allowed himself a grin at her expense, but it quickly faded as he shuffled his feet. To his surprise, no-atmosphere America picked up on his mood almost immediately, and whatever lingering embarrassment she might have felt got shelved in the blink of an eye. "You wanna continue what we were talking about earlier?

"Sort of," Iceland sighed. "I just… don't know what to do."

"Hm…" America hummed as she continued making logs. "Well, I guess the best place to start is, what's your overall goal here? Do you know that for certain, or do you just have a vague idea?"

"… Probably the latter," Iceland grudgingly admitted.

"Well, I guess the first thing to do is figure it out. It might take some time. And then I guess from there… You'll need to talk to your bros about this honestly, which is kinda hard to wear your heart on your sleeve. And I guess the best way to make sure you get your point across is to do so in a way that doesn't make them feel defensive? That sounds right."

Iceland raised his eyebrow. "It 'sounds right'?"

America's face twisted recalcitrantly. "'Cause I'm _soooo_ good at following all this Feelings Advice stuff myself," she snorted, and admittedly, Iceland's lips twitched upward at that. He felt a little bit better, despite the fact that he had yet to overcome the largest hurdle. For all her bravado, America did have moments of introspection that came in handy. He wondered if he had some part to play in all of that…

But, now was not the time to lose himself on Memory Lane. Better to "bite the bullet" as America said, and get the first uncomfortable step out of the way. "I… kind of want to talk to Norway now," he admitted. "It's getting late there, but even though I don't want to deal with him… I don't know? I don't want to talk to him, but I do. But, can you use your phone to call him?" By the end, Iceland felt like the kid he didn't want to be treated as and flushed, angrily averting his gaze.

America didn't seem to pick up on that part, though, and shrugged. "Yeah, turn off your phone and I'll call him," she offered easily. He did so, curious as to why, while she went through the recent calls, selected Norway's number, and redialed.

Iceland's nervousness only grew as she put the phone to her ear and listened for the response. After a few seconds, she straightened, completely focused on the call.

"Hey, Norway? It's America. You called earlier?" she said, voice oozing innocence. Iceland couldn't hear Norway's response, but America nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Iceland's sat-phone was getting low on battery, so he turned it off a while ago. He's… oh, actually he's just getting back from the lake," she fibbed easily. "Want me to get him over here?" Another pause. "Sure, hang on."

America held the phone away from her face, but did not cover the speaker end as she bellowed, "HEY, ICE! PHONE FOR YA!"

Doubtless Norway had gone half-deaf from the sudden decibel barrage through the phone, and Iceland actually snickered as he imagined Norway's expression (as frazzled as the perpetual poker face could ever look) while he held his home phone far away from his ear in distaste. However, all good moments came to an end, and Iceland reluctantly held out his hand for America's phone.

The plastic was warm to the touch as he brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, Iceland," Norway's calm voice came through the phone, betraying neither anger nor recently-induced tinnitus. Iceland still suppressed a cringe. He could only see this conversation going one way: south. America kept her distance and occupied herself with the logs, but still kept an eye on Iceland, looking slightly concerned. However, the island nation was distracted from America's hovering by Norway's. "I got a call from Finland yesterday."

Suddenly, Iceland resented how Norway seemed to be baiting him and sighed heavily. "And did he accept Canada's challenge or not?" he asked, rather snippily.

Norway paused a moment. Then, "Yes, he did. Currently Finland wants the rest of us to join in on a paintball competition, so he called us all up with plans to end our vacation with that. But, of course, you didn't join in for that phone call, because you weren't at home. You were with Canada… and America."

"And Molossia," Iceland snapped. Norway still wanted to play this game of cat and mouse? It was hardly any business of his who Iceland hung out with! At least he wasn't buddying up to North Korea or something!

"And Molossia. You didn't tell me you were going camping with them," Norway remarked rather blandly.

"You didn't ask," Iceland retorted.

"I would have wanted to know something like this, little brother," Norway responded airily. "You know that."

"I thought _you'd_ want to come along and then you'd spend all your time taking pictures of every tree and rock and pile of bird poop," Iceland groused. A few steps away, America's face scrunched up, and she dissolved into silent laughter at the image of stoic Norway enraptured by avian excrement.

Again, Norway paused before answering, and Iceland wondered if he touched a nerve. "It doesn't matter whether or not I would want to come. You don't spend a lot of time with other nations. You didn't bother to tell your big brother about you flying all the way to Northern Canada. And now your phone's dead."

If Iceland didn't know better, he might have thought Norway was pouting. However, he refused to let his words sway him. "Maybe if you hadn't called so many times... Look, I'm fine, okay? We've had a good time out here. We saw a lot of wildlife-" America giggled at that, and mouthed 'gloss over much?' – "went fishing, and watched the northern lights all night. We'll be heading home soon… in a couple of days," he fibbed. Given Norway's insistent efforts to reach him, Iceland half worried that the Scandinavian nation would fly to Toronto just to catch him halfway home. Iceland wondered if he would fly out to Reykjavik to escort Iceland to their family vacation, and use the inescapable prison of the airplane to grill Iceland about this whole trip.

What angered Iceland more than anything was that there was nothing wrong with going on a trip by himself. But Norway didn't seem to get that, or any of the Nordics for that matter. The resentment bubbled over, and he missed half of Norway's response.

"-want to make sure you're safe."

Oh, of all the condescending…

"Okay, look," Iceland said, not bothering to mask the heat in his voice. "I didn't tell you I was going on this trip and now you're upset I didn't say anything. I'm sorry, okay? But it's a short trip, I'm having fun, and America's here, and despite what you might think of her she's perfectly competent at protecting other people. It's late over there, right? I'll see you in a couple of days and we can talk then."

He heard a quick intake of breath, and once again Norway took a long moment to respond. When he did, he actually managed to sound annoyed. In clipped tones, he said, "That we will. Goodnight, lillebror." He hung up without letting Iceland respond.

The island nation slowly withdrew the phone from his ear and stared, dumbfounded. He vaguely heard America hurrying over, and quickly passed the phone back to her before he could toss it to the ground. "Who does he think he is?! Acting so… superior?!" Iceland all but shouted.

America blinked down at him, surprised by the sudden outburst. She didn't say anything in response as Iceland breathed heavily. When he collected himself, a fresh wave of embarrassment rolled over him, and he turned away, stubbornly looking at the lake and offering no words of his own. Therefore, it surprised him when America moved to stand by his side. She didn't hug him or pat him on the head or poke his face, just offered quiet companionship as she contemplated the reflections of the forest on the surface of the lake. Intermittent birdsong and the rustling whispers of wind punctuated their silence, and as they stood there, Iceland felt his blood pressure drop and his anger slowly erode.

"You can think about all of that later," America finally said. "But for now, we've got a bonfire tonight, and we're gonna party it up. It's also partly to get rid of any heavy trash we accumulated," she admitted with a wry grin. "Though preferably not sneakers. Burning rubber stinks." Her nose wrinkled in displeasure at a memory.

Iceland didn't smile, but internally he felt heartened once again. And he wondered, without really wondering, how America could have that effect on him.

* * *

"WHOOOO!"

America's hollers, and Molossia's occasional shouts, tore through the silence of the night.

Dinner had been a modest affair, mainly leftovers from the previous meals. As dusk fell, the nations made the final preparations for the bonfire America had spent the afternoon constructing. The square tower of branches, built in the style of her Lincoln-logs, rose easily ten feet in the air, and she had spent most of the time before dinner collecting the smaller branches and twigs and arranging them in a cone structure both within and around the base of the log tower. Then, she and the others had tossed the bark and dead leaves within the cone and around the edges. America had poured a little of the remaining gasoline from the generator into the center of the construct, whipped out her lighter, and let it go.

The flames had sparked up, quickly consuming the brushwood and gathering enough energy to feed on the smaller branches. Then the gasoline had given the fire the push it needed to envelope the large logs, and a bonfire easily twenty feet high now towered above their heads. Iceland felt that if he walked away from the campsite and into the night, it would serve him as a beacon for kilometers around. He idly wondered if anyone flying a plane over Yellowknife would see their orange flare and balk.

Even Molossia found the heat unbearable if he crept closer than four feet. Iceland fared well, all things considered, because of his proclivity for using volcanoes as parachuting arenas. Kuma outright refused to join them, much to Canada's amusement. America, bolstered by her Arizona summers, handled the flames the best of all of them, and made it her unofficial duty to take care of the trash. Each time she pitched a trash bag into the flames, the fire would dampen around it as if stung, before returning with a rage and engulfing the obstacles. It made the superpower cackle each time, and Iceland raised his eyebrow out of equal parts amusement and worry.

And then she brought out the firecrackers.

Suddenly, bright flares, loud thunderclaps, chaotic screams, sparks, and multicolor explosions joined the fiery inferno in their quest to turn night into day. Canada had a momentary panic attack when America first started lobbing the projectiles at the bonfire without any considerations for safety or aim, but by some miracle she seemed to have a system that resulted in all of her lobs soaring out over the lake to produce their fireworks. Reflections danced and glinted on the icy surface, and it gave Iceland a wicked idea of his own.

He slowly sidled over to America and plucked a firecracker – he didn't see what kind – from her hands. Before she could react, he rushed in on the bonfire, aiming as he moved. Instead of tossing the firecracker through the upper reaches of the blaze, he allowed the tip of the fuse to kiss the flames as he ran past, just enough to ignite, and then he sent it soaring out over the lake in the style of a skipping stone. The firework's fuse, longer than the others, sparked and sizzled as it sailed through the night, making muted splashes each time it made contact with the ice. The firework did not make the birdcall-esque sound that the stones did.

It skipped over the icy surface of the lake. Once, twice, three times, four.

By now, the others had realized what Iceland had done, and watched as the ticking time bomb slid across the lake and vanished into the darkness.

 ** _PNKSPH!_**

A strange hybrid explosion-splash punctured the night air as a shower of blue sparks violently bloomed over the surface of the lake. The brilliance of the explosion was blocked somewhat by the tandem eruption of ice and freezing water surrounding the firework, but under the moonlight and faint wisps of aurora, the burst of ice, fire, and water flowed together and reflected icy blues and pearl white at a thousand angles. America made a choked sound of amusement in her throat as she watched.

She refused to explain until the lingering glints of light on the lake had ceased, and she admittedly, grudgingly but giggling, that to her, it looked like "Mother Nature's disco ball."

When three highly exasperated sighs were here only response, she buckled over laughing and retorted with another firework toss over the lake in Iceland's style. And another. Red lit up the darkness, and then a blinding white. Before long she had Canada and Molossia thawing to the idea and skipping fireworks like stones over the frozen lake, and she grabbed her portable radio, picked their party playlist, and let herself jam.

Iceland found himself grinning the rest of the night as he provoked the bonfire and turned the lake into a fireworks battleground. And every so often, he would look to America, holding her music player above her head as music blared, dancing to an infectious beat and bathed in the light of a "disco ball" equal parts manmade and natural. As she bounced and swayed under a shower of red, white, and blue, uncaring of how ridiculous she looked, laughing and loving life, Iceland came to the sudden obvious realization that she was beautiful. And free.

And he admired her for it.

* * *

End Chapter Nine

* * *

1) Yes, Iceland, let the crushing begin. Muahahaha.

2) I have more knowledge of how to start a campfire than your average Joe, but not much more.

3) It's canon that America can read the atmosphere but chooses not to more often than not, so I feel like that concerns political dealings more than friendships.

4) I don't like how I made Norway somewhat a jerk in this chapter, sadface. It just means more brotherly bonding later!

5) And Iceland's adventurous streak makes itself known again. Also, I have no idea if parachuting into active volcanoes is a thing Icelanders actually do, but a Russian has done it.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairing: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, 11 December, 2015: Have you ever wanted to just stop everything and sleep for a year? Welcome to my life.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Ten

* * *

The morning of rushed packing passed by in a blur, and Iceland once again found himself on a plane with the others, flying out of Yellowknife and bound for Toronto.

Norway hadn't called again, and Iceland wasn't sure how he should react to the uncharacteristic silence from his older brother. Molossia, who didn't know about the recent argument but sensed Iceland's discomfort, actually provided the most distraction in the form of a deck of cards. The two of them spent several hours teaching each other card games before Molossia decided to take a nap.

Finland had primarily communicated with Canada over the upcoming plans, so the True North was the one who explained them to the rest of the group. Iceland was going to keep heading for Copenhagen for his week-long family vacation, and Canada had plans to fly out a few days later for their paintball match. Finland invited America and Molossia as well, but while America accepted the invitation, Molossia declined. The micronation looked like he truly wanted to see the world and meet other nations, but the camping trip had worn him out for the time being. After the Toronto flight, he planned on flying back to the States, heading home, and taking a very long nap.

The seating arrangements had changed since their last flight; America and Molossia still buddied up, but Canada and Iceland sat next to each other, neither quite sure what to make of it. They had pleasant enough conversations, mostly revolving around the recent camping trip, but Iceland could never bring himself to ask Canada why he had told Finland about his trip.

Finally, the plane landed in Toronto. America had to dash to make her connection, and all three of her camping companions found themselves pulled into a chokehold as she hugged them and gushed again about how much fun she had. Then she sprinted away, gone like the wind. Molossia stayed longer to help Canada with the camping gear, and then the northern nation bid them farewell and headed for his own home outside Ottawa. Then, it was just Molossia and Iceland.

The two had some time before their connections to Las Vegas and Reykjavik respectively, so they spent it making small talk, playing some of the card games they had learned, and even taking a couple of selfies. The camping trip had helped them reach a sort of accord where Iceland thought Molossia was pretty cool for a micronation and Molossia thought Iceland was actually a decent guy. By the time Molossia had to depart, the gruff brunet offered Iceland a fist-bump, averting his eyes.

It was a rather nice gesture.

Though Iceland had to fly home alone, he felt much better about it than he had in the past. He had a whole host of pictures on his cell phone and had no trouble occupying himself on the flight back. Though they had only been out in the wilderness for three days, Iceland had easily taken over a hundred photos – including, he noted proudly, a selfie from the branches of the tree that he had evaded the bear in, ursine monster included in the photo. Norway was going to erupt when he saw that, and it gave Iceland a vague schadenfreude satisfaction.

He paused, and decided to send it to America. She'd get a kick out of it, too.

He continued flipping through the album, relishing in the few aurora pictures he had taken and wishing he'd at least held his phone the whole time so he could record the entire night. Still, he felt proud of the pictures he had taken. Maybe he would get professional pictures made, to display them in his house.

His sat-phone, once again turned on, vibrated with America's reply. She had chosen to take a selfie of her reaction to Iceland's, which involved a very shaky camera angle and the superpower crying with laughter. He found himself smiling again, lost in thought as he looked over the picture. When he caught himself, he blushed and forced himself to close the picture.

Still… with all of these pleasant memories, and some rekindled friendships, Iceland couldn't help but feel confident in facing the future, whatever it held.

Even Norway.

* * *

 _-circa 1000CE-_

Just as Iceland had slipped away from Vinland under the cover of night, so too did he return, his heart pounding in his chest as the ship closed in on the small settlement. A paranoid part of his mind convinced him that Norway's ships would intercept his before he landed, or else his older brother would be waiting for him on the shore, and if that wasn't the case, the man would appear from nowhere the second Iceland crept into the village. He tried to calm himself down with deep breaths and focus on the task at hand.

He had left approximately half his men at the southern settlement, which he had yet to name. They would provide for his… little _sister_ … until he returned. Even as tense as he was, Iceland found himself half-grimacing and half-grinning at the memory. A particularly rainy day that had both of them coated head to toe in mud ended not in what should have been a perfectly normal bath time between brothers, but ended with the discovery that Iceland had a little sister instead.

He had stumbled out of the bath in shock, and, in trying to retreat so quickly, he ended up slipping and landing on his face. His little sister had hooted at that, oblivious to his supreme embarrassment.

So, some villagers remained to take care of her, as well as some of the women from the regional tribes. Iceland knew he needed to return quickly in order to stake his claim to her against the Tribes', but he had reached a tentative truce with them to tolerate the settlement and maintain a sort of joint custody over the energetic little girl. Now, Iceland knew she needed him here, shaking his older brothers off her tail. While he doubted his older brother or his companions would do anything particularly heinous, he didn't feel like taking that chance.

It was a simple plan: bear their wrath, feed them lies, and take off again at the next opportunity.

It was that first step that had Iceland reminding himself that _he was a big brother now, he needed to be strong._

He heard the quiet crunch of sand as the ship grounded on the shoreline. Wasting no time, Iceland hurried to his men and ordered them to disembark in absolute silence, taking only what they immediately needed and saving everything else for the next day. The island nation stayed to make sure his commands were carried out to the letter, but even under his watchful gaze he felt his men were not moving fast enough. The moon dipped lower in the sky, signaling the imminent arrival of dawn.

While the last of his men made their way to their dwellings, Iceland contemplated the ocean bathed in moonlight, and the dark, foreboding depths of the forest just up on the hills. He regarded them thoughtfully before hefting a spear and making his way towards them. Somehow, the ancient trees comforted him, and if nothing else, they could serve as temporary shelter against his brother's anger.

Norway found him late the next morning. Iceland had wandered far enough into the woods to sleep, and upon waking promptly decided to hunt… or at least effect the appearance of hunting. He listened carefully for commotion from the village; the influx of settlers could not be missed, and although he had instructed those who returned with him to feed the others lies about traveling north, the second the others noticed the return of the Icelanders, Norway would be hunting for him.

He heard a pattern of crunching leaves and snapping twigs, and sensed the forest holding its breath; the wild game retreated and the birds silenced their calls. Something – or rather, someone – was tracking him. Truthfully, he probably had his little sister to thank for the honing of his skills. Her intuition for forest prowling, and the necessity of Iceland's constant wariness, made picking up the trail a breeze. What worried him was the pacing of two sets of footsteps. If they were human, one would be Norway. The other, he hoped, was anyone _but_ Denmark.

Iceland played the game of cat and mouse for a little longer, hiding the extent of his awareness until his pursuers were closer. Finally, he turned around. He met Norway's stormy gaze and Finland's gentler one, peering at him through a space between two trees.

Finland had the decency to look embarrassed, but Norway merely strode forward, appearing every bit a ruthless Viking with his furs, weapons, and thunderous expression. He spoke without preamble. "Where have you been?"

"I went on an expedition," Iceland replied just as shortly, hoping he didn't seem as petulant as he sounded while he subtly readied his spear in case Norway rushed him. Iceland did not seriously expect his older brother to physically attack him, because no matter what the elder said or did, he still carried a soft spot for his younger brother. Iceland's imminent puberty might threaten him, but the Viking had faced a thousand enemies more dangerous than teenage rebellion.

"You didn't tell me. You didn't tell _anyone_ that you were leaving. Your sailors say you went north, but I know you didn't go to Greenland or even back home."

Damn. Well, that put that particular lie out of his list of options. "I wanted to try and settle someplace on my own north of Vinland," Iceland spat, playing up his irritation.

"You didn't tell me," Norway merely repeated emphatically, his brows furrowing in the beginnings of a frown. Iceland gripped his spear tighter. Norway, while a Viking, could withstand a lot of insult before becoming roused to action. Either Iceland's absence worried the older nation so much that he could only express it as fury, or Iceland's perceived disobedience of some unspoken and ill-defined rule made him feel like Iceland was testing the waters and needed to learn his place. Probably the latter.

Finland, while no slouch in terms of fighting, registered alarm at the growing tension between the brothers. "W-we can discuss this more later, can't we? But Iceland, there's someone we want you to meet! So… let's show him, right, Norway?"

Iceland barely repressed a hateful sneer. They had to be talking about Vinland. And now, no matter what he insisted, his elders would not believe him if he claimed to have spotted the young child first. Norway held his stare for a moment longer before relenting with a look that warned their argument wasn't over. He merely inclined his head back towards the village, an unspoken order for Iceland to follow, and strode away into the dense forest.

They walked in utter silence through the trees and back to the village. Sweden offered a raised eyebrow and a nod to acknowledge Iceland's return, while Denmark greeted him loudly and obnoxiously. Iceland thought he saw some wordless communication pass between his brother and Denmark, for even the so-called King of the North looked troubled for a second. But before Iceland could investigate, Denmark was back to annoying Iceland about how his trip was, and if he'd seen any mythical sea beasts, and if he'd gotten lost trying to get home, and oh, by the way, Icey, there's someone we want you to meet!

So focused was Iceland on his attempts to not betray contempt for what he knew would be Vinland that he actually didn't realize that Denmark had plopped the boy down on the snow in front of him, nor that the rest of the Nordics were waiting for his reaction. Iceland merely stared blankly down at the little boy who blinked up at him curiously, clutching what looked like the smallest polar bear cub ever. Iceland finally started, his gaze zeroing in on the child. Adopting the bland mannerisms of his older brother, Iceland scrutinized the child for a moment before muttering, "So. You're Vinland."

Whatever the Nordics hoped his reaction would be, they had clearly been looking for something different. Finland didn't bother to hide his disappointment, Denmark and Sweden observed the exchange with surprise, and Norway watched with a calculating expression that radiated disapproval. But the two youngest nations missed all of this as Vinland startled and nodded earnestly up at Iceland, the ghost of a voice explaining how he was Iceland's little brother and it was nice to finally meet him.

All the while Iceland remained silent, his mind superimposing the face of his cheerful little sister on the face of this standoffish, weak runt. He didn't care about the expectation that he babysit yet another child and learn to bond with him. He didn't care that he was about to be reprimanded or even punished for gallivanting off to who-knew-where – and if anyone asked, Iceland had gone north, _north_ damn it, and to hell with anyone who insisted otherwise. He didn't care that he gained another younger sibling and that this might afford him a greater measure of respect with his older brother.

All he cared about was the land to the south and making sure none of his brothers touched it. Ever.

* * *

 _-the present day-_

Norway had _not_ flown to Reykjavik in order to head off Iceland before he reached Copenhagen and give him a lecture on Not Going Places Without Telling Big Brother First. Norway had not called, either, and Iceland wasn't sure how he felt about it. However, he _was_ sure he felt glad to be in the comfort of his own home. Camping was an awesome experience, from the food to the tent to the bear chase, but now he could enjoy the comfort of his bed, hearty meals on demand, hot showers, and even the welcome swearing of Puffin.

He wouldn't be home long, however. He had to unpack his camping luggage and prepare suitcases for both his family vacation and the World Meeting that followed it, and he was heading on a plane tomorrow.

As he folded clothes and put them in the suitcase, he wondered what sort of fun his family planned on having, and when Canada and America would arrive for Finland's competition. The impending conversation with Norway loomed over him like a dark storm cloud on the horizon, but America's arrival would make it all worth it. She cared about him and thought of him as a friend, and even if the presence of his brothers and their disapproval at his little trip cast an shadow on his time with them, America was bright enough – and loud enough – to keep the worst of it at bay.

In fact…

Iceland got an idea, and smiled.

She had invited him camping. He would return the favor...

* * *

He really hated plane flights. In isolation, one flight wasn't so bad; exciting at best and tedious at worst. However, flying on a plane across an ocean for the second time in as many days wasn't the highlight of Iceland's day, especially considering the entourage welcoming him when he landed.

Still… was it really that bad? The Nordics were his _family_. They annoyed him to no end, especially Norway, but at the end of the day, they all had each others' backs and looked out for each other. Even if he and Norway ended up in an actual argument over something so... silly, in the end they would make up and come out stronger for it. That's what family did.

The advice America gave him played over and over again in his head. _Figure out your goal in your relationship. Communicate that honestly. And make sure they don't feel defensive; make sure they know you care, which is why it's so important to you that they understand._

Iceland scrolled through his camping pictures for a little while longer, reminiscing and enjoying the wide smile America had in all her shots. Emboldened by the relaxing vacation and the admittedly wise words she had shared with him, Iceland stowed his phone, moved to the window seat to remain undisturbed, and devoted the rest of the flight to figuring out how to talk to Norway about his concerns.

Copenhagen arrived too soon, and Iceland disembarked from the plane internally debating whether or not he wanted to speak privately with Norway or have someone there. However, he knew for certain that he did not want all of the Nordics privy to this conversation, even if word would eventually reach the rest of them.

His internal debate continued in earnest, because now that he didn't have the rest of the flight to buffer his confrontation with his brother it suddenly became a lot harder to just spit out his feelings. Iceland was actually grateful for the crowds in the airport, because the Nordics would have to wait beyond certain checkpoints. Though he delayed and ambled through the airport to his destination, soon enough he saw the group standing amid the crowds. Unobtrusive yet somehow eye-catching, they quickly caught sight of their silver-haired brother and began waving and shouting.

"Hey, Icey!" Denmark called out, bouncing on his feet like a child. Finland waved happily and Sweden and Norway both watched with impassive expressions. Iceland was surprised to note that Sealand had also come along, and the micronation greeted him gladly. "Hello, Iceland! Where did you go off to for the last few days? Finland said we were postponing our trip until you got back."

"I was in Canada. Camping trip. Oh," Iceland reached into his pocket for a deck of cards Molossia had passed to him. "Molossia says hello, by the way. I got to meet him."

Sealand instantly beamed at the mention of his friend and gladly accepted the deck of cards. "Really? That's wonderful! But what was Molossia doing in Canada?"

"We were on a camping trip. America's idea," Iceland shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he weaved through the airport crowds. If he noticed the sudden spike of interest in the Nordics around him, he chose to not notice it and play it cool.

"That sounds fun," Sealand said, without actually sounding sure of it. "What did you guys do? Is America any good at camping?"

Whatever impression of America that Sealand had needed adjustment, Iceland realized. "She and Canada go a lot to visit his northern lights. We were discussing where to go for hours. Canada wanted to go to Iqaluit initially, for a more natural setting, but we decided on Yellowknife." He realized with a small amount of satisfaction that he was rapidly losing Sealand in the conversation, but Sealand, intent on proving his own maturity, did his best to keep up. "And what was that like?" the micronation asked.

"A long drive to get away from the city. Interesting party music," Iceland replied, not entirely stifling a snicker at memories involving vulpine-focused songs. "The lake was pretty and uninhabited. But we all decided that next time we should go to Iqaluit. Canada wanted to show me some of the Inuit settlements there." And he knew that would sound familiar to his family, due to their own connections there. But Iceland had enough of talking about his vacation for a while. "So. We're going to the lodge in the forest?" he asked, redirecting the conversation.

Finland perked up instantly. "Yeah! We can go hiking, pick up shells on the beach, and enjoy some time on our own before the big meeting! And prepare for the paintball tournament of the century," he finished with a hiss, a downright malevolent gleam entering his gaze.

Now that the normally mild-manner Finn had stoked the flames of competition, everyone else's focus was diverted to making sure he didn't get out of hand. As they loaded Iceland's suitcases with the rest of the luggage and piled into the large van, Iceland couldn't help but feel a sense of deja-vu. It reminded him of staring down into a volcano with nothing but a parachute to break his fall, body pumping with adrenaline at the thought of giving the finger to nature by jumping over the edge and emerging unscathed. Something, and he could not tell if it was premonition or his own feelings, told him that the coming talk with Norway might be bad, but he would make it.

… Given, of course, that he survived Denmark's erratic driving first.

* * *

End Chapter Ten

* * *

1) I'm suddenly interested in card games. The popular deck used in the United States is different from ones used in Latin America and Europe. My favorite games would have to be Scum, Heart Attack, or Egyptian Rat Screw, but I wonder about popular games in other countries.

2) Yes, Iceland definitely took a selfie during the bear debacle. I can see that as being something he would do. Probably blank-faced in it as well.

3) Ah, family. Thankfully this chapter is a turning point and we'll get to see some more aimable Nordic interactions.

4) Again, given that they all survive Denmark's driving. I'm pretty sure any reckless driving is merely to annoy others though.

5) All the Iceland strips in Scandinavia and the World are ten times funner with Hetalia Iceland. Just sayin'.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, 18 December 2015: This chapter was just a _weird_ chapter to write.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Eleven

* * *

Sweden took the wheel from Denmark after less than half an hour of driving. He tolerated the weaving in between lanes even on the Øresund Bridge, which frankly was a miracle, but once outside of Malmö, he decided enough was enough. The stern-faced Nordic forced Denmark to exit the highway, pull into a gas station, and switch drivers. Iceland took a seat in the very rear of the vehicle mainly to avoid getting tangled in the middle of such drama.

That, and, since he was still adjusting to the time zone yet again, he wanted to sleep during the seven-hour drive to Stockholm without being jostled too much. Iceland could already see how this car ride would end. Denmark would annoy either Sweden or Norway a little too much, causing whoever it was to retaliate. This would lead to veering at the wheel, which would freak Finland and Sealand out, and then the whole thing would devolve into a shouting match. For added measure, Iceland propped himself up with some cushions and put some headphones in his ears. Maybe if he was lucky they wouldn't start this brawl until a couple of hours into the journey.

While waiting for sleep, Iceland amused himself by flipping through his pictures of his recent trip. Even though they had only been out in the wilderness for a little more than three and a half days, it felt like far longer. Now, with a different group of people on a different continent in a thoroughly-modern car, Iceland felt the carefree excitement from his camping trip move somewhere into the back of his mind. Resting in the back of this van, the only thing to look forward to a trip to Sweden's lodge and all the usual antics that entailed, Iceland felt a sense of normality descend upon him. And, while comforting, he could not help but find it the slightest bit tedious. Just a little boring.

The pictures of the lake, of the four of them skipping rocks, of being chased by a bear, of watching the aurora, of setting of fireworks in their bonfire, they all brought small smiles to Iceland's face. He didn't feel like he needed to pretend in that crowd, or keep a straight face. The Nordics saw the stern side of him, the late teen that wanted to be treated like an adult in all things. He wondered, briefly, why he presented two such different faces to the world before feeling sleep claim him.

He missed Norway's glance through the mirror at Iceland's tired, smiling face, and the buzzing of his phone.

* * *

"Hey Iiiiice, wake up!"

It took several minutes of Denmark's insistent shouting to wake Iceland up, which was a feat in and of itself. In fact, just as Iceland roused himself from the lingering drowsiness, Finland and Norway both climbed back in the car to make sure nothing was wrong. "We thought you died," Norway said blandly while Finland backpedaled and Denmark snorted. Still, he reached out and felt Iceland's forehead. "You don't seem sick, though."

"Of course I'm not sick, I just traveled through maybe ten time zones in the past day, of course I'm tired!" the island nation groused. Ignoring the lingering incoordination and stiffness in his arms and legs, he pulled himself out of his seat, collected his phone, and climbed out of the van into chilly air that served as both a refreshing wake-up call and a sharp smack to the face. Pulling his sweater tighter to him, Iceland was glad he'd opted for it, despite Denmark's prodding. He went over to his suitcase and fetched a scarf out to add to his thermal outfit.

The Nordics often came to this cabin of Sweden's, because it offered both easy access to modern facilities and a sense of isolation and quiet. Located south of the capital and just outside the fringes of the surrounding suburbs, the wooden cabin lay in secluded woods, nestled between one of the many area lakes as well as the marshes and the Baltic Sea. What it lacked in neighbors it more than made up for in size, comfort, and a sense of home when you walked in the door.

Even now, as the group of six piled in and started to make themselves comfortable, Iceland found himself relaxing at the warm wooden walls, the deep colors of the furniture and carpeting, the large fireplace Sweden was crouching in front of to set, and the shelves of books that Norway had gravitated toward. Denmark claimed one of the sofas in the sitting room, reclining and generally making a show of being more exhausted than Iceland, while Finland went into the kitchen to prepare some snacks for everybody and Sealand bounded right back outside. Not in a mood to be bothered, Iceland passed his relatives' suitcases lying unattended in the foyer and pulled his own up the stairs slowly. Once he made it to the landing of the second floor, he looked upwards and contemplated the next. He had always been partial to the third floor loft and usually ended up there, but reconsidered and glanced into an open guest room on the left.

Eventually, he opted for his familiar bunk in the loft and hauled his suitcase up the last set of stairs. This floor had only the one bed, and no real 'rooms' to speak of beside the bedroom. If Iceland had to use the restroom in the middle of the night he would need to creep downstairs, but he walked on soft feet when he wanted to and never disturbed anybody. He considered unpacking his suitcase, but a lack of both motivation and energy made him decide against it. That could wait until after dinner a couple of hours from now. But, since he was feeling a bit uncomfortable from wearing day clothes he had fallen asleep in, he changed into some fresh clothes, dressed for warmth, and headed downstairs.

The Scandinavian countries looked up as he descended the stairs to the first floor, and as he made his way to the kitchen, Denmark spoke up. "So, Ice, wanna tell us about your trip?" His eyebrows waggled suggestively – from what, Iceland could not fathom – and the island nation, still grumpy from waking up, retorted. "I'll talk about it at dinner when everyone is there. I don't want to have to repeat myself."

 _Or do damage control against rumors_ , he thought privately, but he didn't have the inclination or energy to pick that fight with the Dane. With that, he left Norway to reading his book, Sweden to staring into the fire, and Denmark to idly watching some sports game blaring on the wall TV. Finland met him in the kitchen, already working on a simple but hearty chicken dish for dinner. "Do you need some help, Finland?"

Finland blinked in mild surprise before smiling. "Thank you Iceland, but I don't really need any help. This is pretty easy to make and you look tired. You should go enjoy yourself before dinner."

Well, if he was being invited to goof off… Iceland shrugged, grabbed some of the vegetables on the counter, and headed outside.

The chill bit him again as Iceland wandered through the trees to the edge of the lake. A light breeze kicked up, and Iceland debated for a moment before zeroing in on a pine tree with plentiful sturdy branches and boosting himself up in the coniferous reaches. Once he was about a story off the ground, he perched so that his back reclined against the tree with one leg dangling down. From his vantage point, an opening in the needles allowed him to view the bright blue lake and across to the opposite shore, where the roofs of other cabins owned by wealthy Swedes dotted the landscape every so often. It felt refreshing and isolated, which was something Iceland wanted right now.

Absently, he took his phone out from his pocket and blinked in surprise when he noticed a text from America. The timestamp on the message had adjusted to local time, and Iceland still didn't feel up to doing the complete mathematics to figure out when she sent it. Curious, he opened the message.

 _Hey, I hope your flights went fine and you're not dying of Timezonitis like I am ugh. I had a really great time camping and I hope you did too! Drop a line if you ever want to talk!_

Warmth filled Iceland's chest as he read the message, cradling his phone carefully. America had cared enough to check on Iceland, and surprisingly, her way of checking up didn't make him feel coddled. He felt a bit of humor and empathy at her affliction of 'Timezonitis' and wanted to reply –a mixture of a snarky "get well soon" while at the same time goading her with the comment that her case couldn't be nearly as bad as his. She seemed open to talking, and Iceland knew that sooner or later he would drop her a line.

However, he still felt incredibly tired, and he thought it would be incredibly like America to have his phone blow up microseconds after sending his response. As much as he would like to converse with her, he knew that if he lacked the energy to deal with Denmark he probably lacked the energy to deal with America. So he sighed, and decided to put off getting into a conversation with her for another time.

"America sent you a text?"

 _?!_

Thankfully, rather than jump, Iceland tensed, and his grip on his phone tightened as opposed to catapulting the device out of his hands ten feet to the ground. He tried to compose himself as Sealand wound his way around the tree to get a better look at the screen, but only grit out, "when did you get up here?!"

"When you were reading your text from America," Sealand said, smirking. Iceland repressed the urge to groan.

He didn't feel like talking about it with Sealand, although the micronation seemed fired up to pester him. Molossia came to his mind then – Molossia, Sealand's friend. Molossia, a fellow micronation. Molossia, who was… admittedly a cool guy. Molossia, whom he treated with more respect than Sealand, who was now, for all intents and purposes, something of an adopted younger brother. With the way things stood and the way Sealand prodded Iceland to tell him about his trip, Iceland figured that maybe just talking about his trip would do him some good.

"Okay, fine, I'll tell you," Iceland snapped, cutting off a stream of begging from Sealand. "But you can't say anything to the others because I said I would tell them at dinner."

Sealand seemed content with this agreement and stopped trying to take Iceland's phone. He perched himself on a nearby branch and ordered, "Start at the beginning!"

Iceland sighed and did so. He described the boring flight after the rest of the Nordics had left, and the fight England and France almost had, which made Sealand snicker. He recounted how America had come up with the idea and decided to make plans for the spring. He left out the flight he had shared with her to Reykjavik, because, he decided, it _wasn't relevant_. The email chains were glossed over, though Iceland did comment on Molossia's foul mouth.

Then he got into the actual trip, and Sealand listened to his story with genuine interest. The wilderness of Canada, entirely foreign to him, made his eyes go wide as he tried to comprehend the swaths of undeveloped land in the north, with so many lakes nobody had probably bothered to name all of them. Iceland described them skipping stones on the frozen lake, the strange sounds they made, and Sealand looked fascinated by that, too. As proof, Iceland pulled out his phone and showed the micronation the short clip of chirping stones.

He told Sealand about the following day, when they had gone on hikes and ended up getting chased by a bear, ending with Iceland and Molossia in a tree. Sealand gaped in fear, and then awe as Iceland showed him the picture he took of himself, looking unfussed while a bear prowled only feet below him and Molossia clung to a tree branch for dear life. He described the hunting and the fishing, the amazing sight of the aurora, and the wild bonfire that wrapped up their excursion. As Iceland finished his story, phone now in Sealand's hand as the micronation scrolled through his pictures, Sealand looked enthralled by everything. "Whoa! And America said she wants to do this at the end of summer, too? Can I come, Iceland? Please! This looks so fun!"

Iceland chose not to point out that not only did Sealand have no experience camping and no nation-imbibed strength with which to defend himself should a bear cross his path, he also didn't have the ability, as Iceland did, to up and do whatever he wanted in terms of recreation. Instead, he gently pulled his phone out of Sealand's hands and shrugged. "It's up to Sweden and Finland, you know. And if they find out that I had to fight off a bear while I was camping with them, they won't let me go on the next trip, much less you." He tried to keep the sulk out of his voice, with limited success.

Sealand seemed to agree with that, at least. "Oh, true. Okay. I'll keep quiet during dinner while you tell everyone about your trip. It looks so fun, bears and evil pancakes aside!"

Iceland grinned, and was about to retort that they weren't that bad, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Finland's voice echoed through the woods. "Iceland! Sealand! The chicken's ready!" The two of them quickly scrambled down and hurried back to the house in the dusky light. By the time they reached the cabin, both of them had a rosy tint to their cheeks.

Finland grinned. "You look much more awake, Iceland. I can't wait to hear about your trip!"

Iceland nodded and excused himself to go wash up, carefully avoiding Norway's gaze.

By the time he sat down, Sealand was already bouncing in his seat. Iceland internally groaned – Sealand's enthusiasm could, and possibly would, be taken as a sign that he already knew what sort of stories he was about to hear. Now that he'd already talked at length about his trip, his jaw felt sore at the mere prospect of doing all that speaking again. So he sighed and tried to get in a couple of bites of chicken before the rest of the Nordics fired a salvo of questions at him.

However, it was their silence that prompted him to begin.

"Well, I was on the same flight as America, Canada, England and France. We all flew from Poland to England together, and we split up once we got to Heathrow. Word of advice – don't let France and England so much as talk to each other in a crowded airport." Denmark snorted, and even Norway's lips twitched upwards.

"Anyway, Canada said something and the word "camping" came up, and America took the idea and ran with it," he explained while the Nordics all reacted in their various styles that screamed 'classic America...' "So they left for their flights and I went home, and later that week America emailed me and Canada and Molossia for plans."

"Molossia?" Sweden raised an eyebrow.

"He's a micronation in the west of America somewhere," Iceland shrugged, pretending not to know that he had double-checked where in the state of Nevada the micronation actually lived. "So we made plans for the end of March to go up to Canada's northern territory."

This had all of them perking up. "Where at?"

"Yellowknife, also out west. Not near the old settlement at all," Iceland replied, full of nonchalance.

"Old settlement?" Sealand's curious voice suddenly joined the mix. All of the Nordics paused at Sealand's question and stared at him for a moment too long, causing the boy to shrink in his seat for fear that he'd said something wrong. Finland recovered first. "Oh, I guess we never told you this story, Sealand. About a thousand years ago, the Vikings traveled from Iceland and Greenland to the eastern shore of Canada. We built a small village there and named it Vinland, and eventually along came a little boy! We cared for him like a little brother! But, the winters, along with famine and the angry tribes, forced us away. We'd thought that Vinland had died when we abandoned the village…"

"Ah, but don't worry!" Denmark said, slamming his cup down on the table a little harder than necessary. "We thought that Vinland was dead for centuries! But then sometime, couple decades after World War Two, Canada called us about an excavation going on in one of his provinces that was our doing. So we came on over and told him about our little brother Vinland, and – what the f- hell do you know?! It's him!"

Sealand's eyes widened. "Canada was Vinland?"

"You betcha!" Denmark seemed caught up in his penchant for storytelling. "It had been so long that he'd forgotten a lot of things, but he remembered being born as Vinland. Told us that as he was dying from attacks and famine, one of the villagers took him to the tribes in the night. Don't know who it was or what he said, but somehow he convinced the Tribes to keep Vinland alive. And later he was discovered as Canada! Talk about a long-lost relative, eh?"

"So, Canada is one of your brothers? Bloody hell, that makes him brothers with both you and all of England's family! Wow, does England know? This is so cool! There's so much stuff I want to ask him now-!"

The rest of the Nordics seemed bemused by Sealand's imploded mind at the idea. Of course, the micronation had long considered himself a younger brother to Canada, America, Australia, New Zealand, and other nations besides, because of their connection to the brothers in Great Britain and Ireland. His reaction was understandable, they supposed; learning that his "adopted" family was connected to his "biological" one would probably throw anyone for a loop.

One he had calmed down, Finland had to do some more explaining to Sealand. "Peter, I'm sure Canada would be happy to talk with you about it, but I'm not sure what he remembers, exactly. Also, strictly speaking, his "relation" to us has changed from a brother to more like a distant cousin, because England and France were the major colonizers who shaped him. But yes, we do consider him family. And yes, England knows. Apparently his reaction was memorable," Finland giggled, and Sealand's eyes lighted with mischief. But then, a second wave of curiosity lighted in his eyes. "So, wait, then what about-"

"-My story?" Iceland finished, layering on the irritation thick, and it wasn't entirely an act. Between the Nordics finding out about the bear and the Nordics finding out about America being Canada's biological twin thanks to two eras of colonization as opposed to one, he'd take the bear. His gambit seemed to have worked for the time being, as all eyes snapped back to him and Finland and Denmark both apologized for disrupting his story. Iceland huffed, secretly analyzing the table. Norway was inscrutable as always and a wild card, but the confusion in Sealand's eyes and the contemplation in Sweden's made him nervous that he hadn't thrown them off the scent entirely. Fuck. He'd have to play his trap card: bear.

"So we didn't do much on the first day, we just did some hiking around the Great Slave Lake. America showed us this cool trick where she skipped stones on the ice and they made a sound like chirping birds." Well, Sealand seemed enthused at the memory of Iceland's earlier retelling, and Sweden looked like he was paying attention again, so that was a good sign. However, when Denmark decided that the next day would be spent with them trying to imitate this phenomenon, Iceland quickly took the reins. "Also, we got chased by a bear."

Silence.

"What?!" Denmark cackled, looking more amused than anything. Finland looked mildly horrified, and Sweden and Sealand both widened their eyes in shock, for slightly different reasons. It was Norway's reaction that put Iceland on edge, however, as the intense glare had focused to a laser point. As much of a thrill-seeker as Iceland was, "Norway" was not your average natural daredevil's challenge like parachuting into an active volcano or kayaking on the Niagara River, and Iceland was sure he'd rather face either one of those underequipped than face Norway while wearing Kevlar. So he quickly amended his story, altering it from the true version he had told Sealand. "There was a mother with some cubs, and then a male approached. The male was the problem. America ended up shooting it."

Finland and Sweden both appeared relieved. Denmark, unaffected, snorted into his drink. Sealand seemed to accept the white lie, even looking satisfied that he alone knew the truth. But once again, Iceland only cared about Norway's reaction. While frazzled, the Scandinavian seemed mollified by this turn of events, and Iceland decided to let that sleeping beast lie. "So we ended up eating a lot of bear." More snorts from Denmark. "There was a small meteor shower that night too, so that was nice. Then the next day we decided to take turns with the shotgun to scare off any other moose or bears that hung around. That was when I opened my big fat mouth and mentioned how terrifying it would be if Finland and Canada had a sniping contest," he griped, glancing at the usually-gentle nation.

Said usually-gentle nation took only a moment to remember his upcoming "appointment" with the Canadian for the vicious gleam in his eyes to return. He vaguely heard the other Nordics issuing low oaths and praying to a variety of gods, old and new, to save them from the impending two-man war. "Then I taught Molossia how to fish. He's not very good at it yet because he lives in a desert, but if he keeps trying he'll learn. So we had bear and fish for dinner, and then that night we saw the Northern Lights." He wanted to pass his phone around to show the pictures he had taken, but wasn't sure if he could trust the others not to flip through the rest of his pictures.

"And how were they?" Norway asked, a challenging gleam in his eyes. Strangely, Finland also seemed intent on the answer, and Iceland realized it was because both of them prided themselves on their own displays of the aurora borealis. He shrugged and tried to take the diplomatic route. "Canada's lights are no slouch. It was nice seeing them so far away from light pollution in big cities. Scandinavia still holds the record of longest and brightest though." _But, maybe, the most recent light show usurped the very first aurora he had seen as an infant with Norway as "best memory."_

Both of them relaxed before turning their competitive streaks against each other.

"The next day we went hiking to gather firewood and had a bonfire," Iceland finished, feeling oddly cheated. He wanted to keep some of the details of his trip secret, but now that he had succeeded in that regard, why did he feel like he wanted to tell them more? He repressed a groan and hoped the North American twins would join them soon. He didn't seem to have this "feelings" problem as much with them around.

"A bonfire? What was that like?" Denmark asked, spearing a piece of chicken.

The question seemed to perk Iceland up. "Twenty feet tall and full of fireworks," he replied, watching with restrained glee as Denmark coughed on his chicken and tried not to choke. Once again, Norway and Finland pinned him with concerned looks. "Iceland, that sounds dangerous! Why did you do that?"

"It was fun," he replied petulantly, "and no one got hurt. It made the bonfire a lot more epic too. A gigantic fire we couldn't comfortably get closer to than two meters, flames rising five meters in the air, fireworks shooting out and sizzling at the top. I want to do that again sometime."

Finland and Norway, and to a lesser extent Sweden, immediately voiced their doubts about doing such a thing. However, Iceland had successfully won over Denmark and Sealand, and it looked to be shaping up to a three on three argument with neither side doing anything except antagonizing the other. Before the situation could escalate, Iceland cut off Finland's muttering about how dangerous it was. "I didn't mean here and now. There's too many people nearby to make it safe. Besides, Dan said we're going to try that rock-skipping again. I know you want to go hiking," Iceland nodded at Norway, "and Sweden's boat is docked here. We have plenty to do before the apocalypse."

"The wha- oh, yeah. When are they coming anyway?" Denmark asked.

"We've got three days to ourselves, along with Easter, and then I think Canada said he would head out right after," Finland replied. The beast lurking inside him seemed to simmer just below the surface as he cleaned up the dinner plates. "Maybe we should wait until we get to Bern and challenge Switzerland too…" he cackled darkly, relishing the way even Sweden paled at that idea.

"Uh, Fin? That's not such a good plan, bro! Come on, do you have a death wish or something?!" Denmark sprang up after Finland, both to help him clear the table and to dissuade him from a situation that looked to be gearing up into something more intense than even Russia could handle. Sweden remained seated while he fixed himself some coffee, and Norway watched the heated and rather fruitless negotiation attempts on Denmark's part. Iceland, satisfied from the meal and exhausted from traveling, quietly excused himself from the table and slipped away to the staircase.

He watched chaos descend on the kitchen as he mounted the steps to the second floor, and when he had reached the top, he glanced down and found Sealand watching him curiously. Like he had a question.

One that Iceland did not feel like permitting discussion of.

What about America, indeed…

* * *

End Chapter Eleven

* * *

1) Timezonitis. It's real and it sucks. Hard.

2) So in between last chapter and this one, Duolingo released "Polish for English Speakers" in beta. And let me tell you, even though Russian has almost an entirely different alphabet, I find the Polish one to be more confusing because it's much more Latin-based and therefore I keep guessing and pronouncing the sounds wrong. Polish people, _how do you even._

3) So, now we know the condensed story of this AU for how Canada was Vinland and America was a more southern settlement. More spotlight on Canada to come in a few chapters.

4) Some more Scandinavia and the World shout-outs appear in the chapter, including Finland's vicious streak when it comes to sniping as well as Finland's and Norway's semi-competition over who has the better Northern Lights. Also, both claim that Santa Claus lives in their territory...

5) Next update will likely be on Christmas. Enjoy your holidays everyone!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, 25 December 2015: MERRY CHRISTMAS, YA SCROOGES.

I forgot to mention this explicitly in the notes last chapter, but the storytelling about Vinland and the subsequent discussion was written to ease any concerns about this AU causing Ice/Ame to be incest if that doesn't float your boat. A cousin-ish relationship was something I thought less people would find squick than brother-sister. And although no one asked, I was originally going for a slash pairing, but during the planning stages one of my friends who also likes Hetalia commented about how adorable VikingEra!Iceland would be teaching a little sister how to be badass, and the more I thought about it the more I agreed.

Stay tuned for a humorous short after the end of the chapter.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Twelve

* * *

Perhaps it was the difference in weather patterns over North America compared to those that controlled climate in Europe, or perhaps it was the fact that the Great Slave Lake was indeed situated further north than Stockholm. Whatever the reason, the Nordics found themselves occupied with Denmark's determination to find a frozen lake, and as they continued hiking past their third such lake, not frosted over nearly enough for Denmark's purposes, everyone was getting a little bit tired and annoyed.

Sealand, already fatigued from the walk and perched on Sweden's shoulders, suggested turning around to have lunch. Unanimous approval met with the idea, and they wearily turned themselves back towards the cabin. Tired, hungry, annoyed, and unwilling to start a conversation with anyone, Iceland slowly began to amble behind the others. When he had a few good paces between himself and the others, he took out his phone and sent America a message.

 _How are you?_

He watched his screen carefully for a minute before he remembered the time difference between the U.S. and Sweden. If America was on the east coast, then it was… six or seven hours earlier there, he couldn't remember which. And if it was noon here, then… He repressed the urge to bury his face in his hands. Waking someone up at five or six in the morning with something as inconsequential as "how are you?" would not endear himself to anyone, least of all America. Realizing that even if she did see the message she probably wouldn't return it until a more wakeful time for her, Iceland stowed his phone again and continued trudging behind the others.

It took them almost a full hour to get back to the house, by which time all of them reached for the nearest food and basically swallowed it whole. The six of them mostly fended for themselves for lunch, throwing together a meal out of whatever they could find while Finland started constructing a shopping list and Denmark hogged anything left unclaimed for a towering smørrebrød. None of them really felt like going on another hunt for a frozen lake, although Norway enjoyed long walks outdoors and returned to the trails after eating his fill after shooting Iceland a rather frosty look. Sealand stayed behind to watch television, Finland and Sweden headed off to get some more food for the refrigerator, and Denmark set himself up in the kitchen with a newspaper, subtly "babysitting" the two youngest Nordics.

Iceland did not find that amusing in the slightest.

He escaped having someone breathe down his neck by heading up to his room, and flopped on the bed, feeling listless.

Walking around in the woods this morning had been refreshing, and returning to the house stifling. Iceland enjoyed spending time with his family when they didn't insist on reminding him how young he was in comparison to everyone else. Suddenly, it occurred to him that although Norway had promised they would continue their "conversation" later, his older brother had made no move to initiate. Was he waiting for Iceland to come to him?

Rebellion flared as the thought crossed his mind, and Iceland was half-tempted to dig in his heels and resist talking to Norway before two realizations crossed his mind. First, that Norway might not have intended that, and second, he was planning to act – or rather, not to act – based on nothing but speculation. Taking the first step, rather than putting off this conversation as long as he could, might prove to Norway his maturity.

Still, he debated. Logically, a number of reasons made it prudent to have the conversation now: to get the unpleasant dilemma out of the way, to demonstrate to Norway that Iceland was an adult, to come to a sort of accord before America got here. And yet every emotion urged him to wait; he needed to know what to say, he needed to know what kind of company he wanted when he had this talk, he needed to wait for Norway to broach the subject.

Buzzing from his phone surprised him.

In his unread messages was America's reply. _I'm tired. I have to put in extra hours before we meet up with you guys/WM. What's up?_

Now that he thought about it, it wasn't even 7 in the morning in Washington, D.C. Iceland raised his eyebrow. He knew America often worked _late_ , but usually chalked it up to putting off work until the last minute. Extra hours seemed out of character for her. But he was grateful for her reply, because it allowed him to spell out his own response one letter at a time, contemplating each word as he admitted, _I'm thinking about talking to Norway now._

America's reply took several minutes, all of which Iceland spent watching his phone intently.

 _That's good. Remember how much you love each other and remember to be honest and good luck! Things will turn out fine. :)_

Well, Iceland hadn't expected any profound wisdom from her, and he knew she meant her sentiments. He snorted as he remembered her own admitted denseness about "Feelings Advice", and the irony that the atmosphere-lacking nation was the one coaching him through his convoluted relationship with Norway. So he responded with a simple _Thanks. I'll let you know how it goes._ Then he stowed his phone and forced himself to get out of bed and walk down the stairs, his anxiousness over the upcoming discussion fighting him every step of the way.

Denmark looked up as he walked past the kitchen and headed for the door. "Hey, where ya goin, Icey?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I'm going to go walk with Norway. My phone's on," Iceland replied, not quite keeping the bite out of his voice as he added that last tidbit. Denmark, oblivious to the slight spite, seemed appeased and waved him off. "Ah, fine, get outta here then."

As if he needed permission.

Armed with a warm coat and a cell phone, Iceland hurried down the local trails, keeping his eyes open for a blue jacket and a head of blond hair. It reminded him of hunting in forests similar to these, ages ago, and unconsciously his gait became more measured, his footfalls silent.

Finally, he found the frigid nation sitting on a rock at the edge of the pond, motionless as he watched the leaf buds bounce on the branches of trees. Iceland approached cautiously, unable to tell Norway's mood, as usual, and finally took a seat next to his brother. "Hey."

Norway whipped around, eyes flashing for a moment before they landed on Iceland, recognized the other nation, and returned to their dark brooding blue. "Hey."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes contemplating the pond and how to begin this much-needed discussion. Finally, Iceland took a deep breath and plunged into the deep end. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was going camping in Canada with America and Canada and Molossia."

Norway said nothing. Norway stayed silent for so long that Iceland thought he was being silent to spite him and finally glanced at him in worry, only to see his older brother seriously considering him.

"… It's fine," he said finally.

Iceland pressed his advantage. "No, it's not. When you called me, you were annoyed. And you've been ignoring me on this family trip so far. You don't like that I didn't tell you beforehand. I don't know why. Maybe you wanted to be a part of that trip, or maybe you just wanted to make sure I was safe, but the fact that I kept a secret from you hurt and it annoyed you."

Something close to a scowl warped on Norway's face, and for a moment Iceland thought he'd pushed his perpetually stoic neighbor a little too far. Psychoanalyzing his unreadable older brother to such an intense degree did not sit well with Iceland, and just verbalizing the words made it feel like he was constructing a mold in which to fit Norway inside, but the island nation had no other simple means of preamble before getting into the really heavy material. So he plowed on.

"Norge, you're my big brother," he said, and he ignored the sudden blanking and intensification of Norway's gaze in favor of pulling his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, planting his chin on top of them, and focusing on the pond and the breeze and the stirring dead leaves. "You're always going to be my big brother. And the rest of you are all family, too." He hesitated before choking out the next words. "I… I do love you guys, you're my family, okay? And nothing's going to change that. But sometimes… sometimes you treat me like a kid, and it pisses me off. _A lot_."

His admission echoed in the clearing, with nothing but the wind to erase the imprint of his words. Iceland didn't dare look at Norway, didn't want to see what kind of angry expression his brother might have, didn't want to hear something self-righteous about being older right on the heels of his confession. He needed to wipe away the words with more words, so he took a shuddering breath and continued. "America invited me camping, and since I wanted some space from you guys, I went without telling you. I had a lot of fun. We went hiking, _I fought a bear_ , I taught Molossia how to fish, we saw an amazing aurora, and we had a great bonfire. I really liked camping with them… and I want to do it again sometime."

He retreated further in on himself. "You guys really _annoy_ me with your talk about how young I am and how I can't take care of myself, like I haven't been an independent nation since the last World War." He snorted and missed the guilty flinch on Norway's face. "At the end of the day none of that stupid stuff matters because you're my family, but… I needed a break."

He felt horrible. Damn it, America's advice hadn't worked at all. He just felt worse for saying all of this. Norway was going to berate him, then ignore him for months on end, and make Iceland approach him with endless apologies about his behavior. Fuck, why did he think the atmosphere-dense superpower would know what to do in a situation like this?! She solved all her problems with England by mocking his marmite or bashing his brains with her briefcase. He felt extra warmth gathering in his eyes, but he wasn't going to cry. He shut his eyes tight and buried his face in his knees, quickly wiping the extra fluid away before it could fall. Norway stayed silent. The wind stayed silent. The tension grew unbearable.

After what felt like ten whole minutes of complete silence, Iceland decided that enough was enough; if he had soured his relationship with his older brother then he at least wanted the luxury of sulking in peace. He regained his composure, lifted his chin, and uncoiled his body, hoping he wouldn't stumble as he stood up. He didn't need to be anywhere except away from Norway and his anger, so he pressed his hands into the rock to push himself up. An arm, wrapped in a deep blue jacket, shot up to grab Iceland's own.

Before Iceland could say anything, before he could react, Norway pulled him close. A thrill of fear went through the island nation – had he angered Norway enough to cause the other to manhandle him? – but before he even fully registered the thought, he felt himself collide with Norway's body. Arms wrapped around him, keeping him in place and insulating him with body heat, and for a long moment a new kind of stillness punctuated the pond.

The Norwegian was silent for a long time, and Iceland barely dared to breathe in the silence, refused to let the proximity and the warmth seduce him with comfort and reassurance. He needed to know what Norway thought, he needed to be prepared for whatever he might say, but his older brother's difficulty with words made waiting an endless hell.

"…I'm sorry."

Iceland felt his eyes go wide. Norway's voice, subdued and mildly raspy, whispered the confession so softly the island nation wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it up. But no, Norway had definitely said something, and Iceland wished he could pull back, just slightly, so he could read Norway's face, inscrutable as it could be. But he couldn't pull away, not just yet.

"I… haven't been a good older brother, have I?"

"No!" The flat tone in Norway's voice alarmed Iceland more than anything. "Shut up, Norge, it's not like that! You're… a good older brother. But… just because I'm you're younger brother, doesn't mean I'm going to stay _young_. I'm not a kid. And sometimes you treat me like I am."

"I don't like you going out fighting bears."

A laugh that was practically a sob tore its way out of Iceland's throat. " _That_ bear's big brother didn't like _it_ going out fighting Icelands," he rasped. "I tossed it through a tree. We're all nations. I'm stronger than I was, Norge, I'm independent and live on my own and work for my government like you do yours. But… I guess you.. you d-didn't… get to see me grow…" His breath hitched.

No, he _wasn't_ going to dredge up those memories. Napoleonic Wars, Kiel Treaties, the long separation when Norway lived with Sweden and Iceland with Denmark. A century in Denmark's house without his older brother around, Denmark was the one to fully raise Iceland in the end. He taught him modern combat techniques, he showed him how to run his own nation, even if Denmark had the final say, he gave Iceland his grudging blessing when the panicked island nation broke from the union during the second World War in a bid for neutrality and safety. Only then had he seen Norway again, after all that pain and terror… He found himself wrapping his arms around Norway in return and burying his head in Norway's shoulder. He wasn't going to cry damn it.

But then he felt Norway's head on his own shoulder and Norway's own shuddering breath and that was his fault, fuck. He made his older brother… cry. He'd _never_ seen Norway cry. Not even when he'd been forced to leave Denmark's house for Sweden's, and in doing so, left Denmark and Iceland behind in the cold. He didn't want to. Pulling his brother down into such a pathetic state over something so stupid filled him with a nauseating shame.

"I'm sorry."

One of them said it. Probably both of them.

"You didn't get to raise me… so… were you trying to make up for lost time? I'm not mad at you for that, Norge, I've never been. But I'm grown now, so don't beat yourself up over it. A-and don't beat Denmark up, or Sweden.." he muttered shakily. "Just because I grew doesn't mean I'm not your little brother Iceland anymore. I'm just your younger brother who grew." Norway's arms tightened around him, as if by pulling Iceland close enough to lock in a Siamese embrace Norway could protect both of them from ever being separated again, or from time's inevitable passage. He spoke, Iceland realized, with something more potent that words. It didn't bother Iceland that he had to strain slightly to breathe, he held on for all he was worth and tried to force the words he couldn't convey into Norway's chest by sheer pressure.

 _I want respect, I want equal footing, I'm sorry big bro, I do love you, I love that you care about me, I care about you too, just let me be me._

They stayed that way for a long while, the sounds of birdsong and insects and wind reassuring them of their humanity. "I.. didn't realize what I was doing. Not fully," Norway admitted in a gruff voice. He didn't pull away yet. "When you say it like that, the truth becomes so obvious it hurts. It hurts to think that I missed so much time with you, lillebror."

"It hurts me too," Iceland whispered, not sure what else to say besides the truth and nothing but the truth. They fell into silence again, two internally-programmed nations at a loss for words despite their deep relation.

Finally, Norway took a deep breath and spoke. "I… will try to watch myself when I… do that," he said vaguely, and Iceland knew how hard he was trying to be both honest with his emotions and prudent with his reply. "But it will take… some time. I need to think."

"Sure, Norge." Taking that as his cue to give his older brother some space, Iceland disengaged his arms from their embrace and made to stand up. Therefore, it surprised Iceland when Norway responded in kind, rising in order to walk with him. The island nation blinked, but did not protest, as Norway took a few paces forward as if to lead, before abruptly turning back and reaching out to take Iceland by the hand.

He reached. He reached across an ocean of water and an ocean of time and made contact, firm, warm contact, into a place of comfort and security. This awkwardness, this beginning of a new phase, it wasn't the cleanest ending to an old era, and by no means had the weight of the past been fully shed and left behind them, but for now, they could walk back to the cabin without a backwards glance, a feeling of contentment resolving deep in their souls.

Because they were brothers.

* * *

Norway did not have dinner with the rest of them and did not so much as appear for the rest of the evening, despite Denmark's goading and Finland's speaking to him through the doorway. A general atmosphere of concern permeated the cabin for the rest of the day, and as night fell and Denmark and Sweden both ended up brooding at the fire, Iceland watched their faces, half-shadowed by the flickering light of the flames, and wondered if he should divulge their conversation. Part of him wanted to, because they might have a less severe reaction to anything Norway said or did if they understood why. But, another part of him didn't.

Some of that was concern for backlash in the form of a scolding, for making Norway… come close to crying, because Iceland would not admit to anything more than that. Hell, Denmark still cared about Norway very much and might end up shouting at Iceland, even if it was more out of confusion and anger than actual hostility. Sweden, if he reprimanded Iceland at all, would probably make him feel far worse, with that omnipresent stern expression and the gruff, barely-intelligible words of wisdom that would puncture Iceland to his core. However, most of his reluctance to speak was because he wasn't sure if he wanted to take on the same conversation again for the second time in a day. Norway might speak to them about it at some point instead, and maybe they could move on from there…

Either way, Iceland concluded that the day thus far had emotionally exhausted him to the point where a second go at this whole family-issues thing would not end as well as the first round had. The TV seemed spoken for by the fireplace, Finland and Sealand were engaged in a cutthroat card game, and Norway, of course, was in his room, thinking. Iceland was bored, tired, and restless, all at once. With nothing better to do and an itching on his mind, he trudged up the stairs to the loft, shut the door, reclined on his guest bed, and dialed America.

It was about eight in the evening, so-

"'yello?"

"America?"

"The one and only!" Her perky voice came through as usual, but Iceland heard a lot of background noise. "Are you still working?" he asked.

"Well, it's only about 2pm, dude. Normal workday here is 9-5 and I usually go 8-6 as it is." He could almost hear her shrug. "Of course, this is about the time when lunch starts making work a drag, so thanks for calling!"

"No problem," Iceland replied wryly. He kept forgetting about Americans and their insane work culture. Between her, Korea, and Japan, the three of them would probably end up working themselves to death one day.

"So what's up, dude?"

"…I… talked to Norway."

On the other end, America seemed to shift. Her tone took on a few shades more serious when she responded. "Ah. I bet that was hard. Well, was it okay? Did you tell him everything you wanted to? Do you think things are going to be okay now?"

"Well…." Iceland thought about the afternoon. Between two soft-spoken nations, he was surprised as many words were exchanged as they had, even more surprised that he was responsible for the vast majority of them. He didn't know if he wanted to tell America how painful it had been to confront the issue head on, or how raw he still felt. For a few moments all he could hear was America's soft breathing on the phone, a quiet crackling static. Finally, he opened up again. "Well… I think the main issue was that I grew up mostly under Denmark, after the Treaty of Kiel, after Norway and I were separated… and he didn't really register that I had become independent when he saw me again. Maybe he thought our relationship as an adult older brother and a child younger brother would pick up where it left off… but it couldn't. We don't have that kind of brother bond anymore."

America took a long time to reply, and Iceland thought with irritation how much her silence reminded him of Norway's earlier silence. "So, he was trying to make up for lost time?" she asked.

"Yeah…" Iceland muttered, suddenly paranoid of anyone listening outside his door. "It wasn't that he couldn't accept I'd grown up without him, not completely. He didn't fully realize it. He might still not.. he said he needed time to think about things. … We both… cried a little," he admitted, and his cheeks bloomed with color as he admitted as much.

"That's okay," America replied, voice surprisingly gentle. "You can begin to be brothers the right way again now. You still have a couple of days in Sweden, right? Try to spend them mostly with him, and just with him. Even if you don't say much. It's okay now."

Any reply Iceland wanted to concoct was stopped by his memory of the afternoon, and his momentary fury at America for giving him what he believed to be bogus advice, before Norway had opened up and reached some sort of accord with him. "How do you know so much about this stuff?" he half-griped. "You can't read the emotional atmosphere and in meetings it's all burgers and heroes."

A laugh came through the other end, and Iceland heard a coworker asking America what she found so funny. "Some of that's just to annoy England," she admitted freely. "But speaking of the grump, he's the reason I know." The words 'revolutionary war' need not be spoken. "We didn't really have a chance to talk about all of this stuff until World War Two was almost over. Canada… er, _strongly encouraged_ me to just 'get this emotional baggage bullshit' out of the way, since we had a war to fight. It was a lot like yours," she admitted, almost shyly. "Neither of us really likes confronting difficult emotion-" Iceland snorted at that "-so pulling him aside on a war front to have a heart-to-heart and what _might_ have been a cry-fest wasn't something I really wanted to do. I still can't really talk about it much before my allergies act up-" another snort from Iceland "-but we rarely have big fights over nothing anymore."

Well, that much was true, and anyone could testify to the veracity of America's statements.

"I guess you're right about this, then," Iceland hummed. He didn't feel like telling America about the mental litany of swearing he had directed at her earlier in his weakest moment. "I'm glad I listened to you, so… thanks."

"Anytime, bro!" she cheered, then backtracked. "Oh, uh, 'bro' is a term we in the States use to mean a close friend, can I call you that, or just 'dude'?" Iceland blinked. He'd barely had time to register her use of the term before she barreled ahead. "I'm okay with either," he said, mainly out of a loss of what to say or do. America seemed satisfied with that response and continued rambling. "Say, Ice, I think of you as a good friend but before the camping thing we haven't done a lot together. Whaddaya say? We should go do something together sometime. Do you think of me as a friend? 'Cause I think you're a really cool guy."

Another American barrage. Iceland tried to keep his head on straight as he balanced the tasks of dissecting her latest word eruption with forming an appropriate response. "I'd like to hang out sometime. Actually, I was going to invite you to my house since you invited me to go camping last time. And yeah, we're friends."

The amount of straightforwardness America required from him in such a condensed format had him feeling tired all over again. He'd just gone and spontaneously invited her to his house, which, granted, he had been meaning to do, but with slightly more planning. And how did someone respond to "we're friends, right?" while feeling and sounding sincere? He couldn't gauge just how close they were as friends when Iceland couldn't gauge how America felt about him, much less how he felt about her. He found himself recalling her stunning smile, her bright eyes, and her waving hair more often than he thought necessary or appropriate, and it was starting to trouble him-

"-That is really awesome of you Iceland! I don't think I've been to really see your house in years, this is going to be so cool!" The intensity of the background chatter picked up audibly, and Iceland almost thwacked his head on the bed's headboard in mortification and intimidation. Now some part of the American government knew about his rather forward… forwardness, or something. It could be misconstrued as… something other than what it was. Like… things.

Oh, shit. Iceland's face erupted like Eyjafjallajökull. He covered his face with one arm as he listened to America cheer through the phone. It was several minutes before she calmed down enough to talk to, and Iceland, both tired and spurred by a sudden infatuation-induced adrenaline rush, interrupted her stream with a cough. "America?"

"Whoa, Ice, you need a cough drop or something, you okay?" she asked.

"When you visit, can we talk?"

"We can talk any time. I'll always be here to listen," she replied, and Iceland could not doubt her sincerity in the matter.

"It's about something important. It's about… Suðurland."

America fell silent.

The island nation felt as though he'd jumped into the icy lake they'd camped by and a sudden extreme anxiousness overtook him. At best, America wouldn't have any idea what he was talking about, at worst she would know exactly – was he getting best and worst confused? He didn't know anymore, he didn't know what he wanted from this situation anymore.

But the longer the silence dragged out…

"Sure, dude," she replied softly, very softly, sounding as anxious as he felt.

"All right." A beat of silence. "Well, it's getting pretty late here and today made me really tired, so I should get to bed."

"And my boss is tapping his foot for me to start working again, haha, so I need to go too," America laughed weakly. "Well, I work all day tomorrow but the next day Canada and I are flying out. See ya then, Ice!"

"Goodnight, America." He hung up, and the hand holding his phone dropped limply until it rested in the sheets.

He'd done it. He'd asked. And it had been more terrifying that this afternoon. Because, unlike the brother he knew very well, he could not picture the expression on America's face as she staved off her boss, set down her own phone, and went back to work.

Suðurland.

* * *

End Chapter Twelve

* * *

Christmas Cat

 _'Twas the morning of Christmas, and all through the house_  
 _A GIANT CAT RAMPAGED AND TOSSED NATIONS ABOUT._

Everyone thought Christmas would be fairly normal that year. Granted, Canada and America were spending it with the Nordics and were treated to quite a few Scandinavian traditions, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary. America giggled as Canada donned a goat hide, and tried on a crown of candles even though St. Lucia's day had already passed. She'd squealed with delight at Denmark's penchant for dressing his trees with miniature versions of his flag, and everyone feared for a star-spangled Christmas the following year.

Then Iceland had burst into the sitting room riding on the back of a gigantic feline terror spitting bile, hissing at several nations with complete and utter contempt. Iceland cackled as Denmark let out a shrill scream and dove behind Norway, who was chalk white and attempting to summon a troll or other companion who could fight off the menace. Sealand had started to cry and dove behind Sweden, so the task of protecting the micronation fell to Finland, already armed with a butcher's knife and a sniper rifle.

"Christmas Cat is here to punish those who fail to receive clothes this year!" Iceland bellowed, snickering as Denmark searched in vain for his axe.

"Clothes...?" America blinked, and then grabbed Canada. "HE'S MY HAT!" she shouted desperately.

"For the last time, America, I am not-"

"Dude, just shut up, I'm saving both our asses from that demon cat!" she hissed.

Canada sighed, but saw actual sense in her words and fell silent.

Iceland considered them with narrow eyes. You win this round," he grudgingly conceded. "But the rest of you are not so lucky!" And with a sharp "Hyah!" he steered the Christmas Cat in the direction of the rapidly-fleeing Nordics, taking several walls down with him.

it was said that Denmark never trusted kittens again.

 _The End~_

* * *

1) Apparently the Danish have a dish called smørrebrød which is basically an open-faced sandwich with practically anything you want on it.

2) I do not feel confident about Norway and Iceland's conversation at all. They're both such quiet characters so it's hard to write them well.

3) On a similar note, I feel that Norway's characterization in the anime is not so much stoic as subdued. He definitely has a sense of humor, expresses some amusement evident through his voice during the DNA results episode, and shows kindness to others (and did you hear the recent news story about Norway thinking of redrawing borders so that Finland can have a new highest peak, to celebrate 100 years of Finnish independence? That's so SWEET!). I like to think of him as the kind of person who favors actions over words when communicating.

4) The U.S. has kind of a crazy work culture... or crazy-about-work culture. A lot of stories portray America as lazy or irresponsible, but the value of Hard Work is practically one of America's foundations.

5) Christmas! Check out Scandinavia and the World strips for where I got my inspiration for the little end-of-chapter short, especially "Christmas Kitten" and "Christmas Traditions." Though I have to say, Iceland... the whole "thirteen Santas who give naughty children coal and then eat them" idea is a bit extreme... Regardless, Season's Greetings to you all!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, January 1, 2016: HAPPY NEW YEAR YA SCROOGES. Make a resolution you can keep. One of mine is to write at least two paragraphs of fun-writing each day. The others are... weird.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Thirteen

* * *

Norway spent very little time in the company of the other Nordics for the remaining two days. He stayed silent at family meals, not bothering to choke Denmark with his tie no matter how much the boisterous nation goaded him. He walked along hiking trails alone, took care of cleaning the cabin, and read in his guest bedroom whenever they turned in for the evening. However, he did spend time with Iceland canoeing on the lake just outside of the cabin, and while they didn't exchange too many words, Iceland felt reassured that his brother actively volunteered to go boating with him. The lake, the canoe, and the silent companionship comforted Iceland more than he suspected it would.

While not especially observant, the Nordics still attended Easter Mass in a church on the outskirts of Stockholm. Peter found the proceedings most difficult to get through, but Iceland didn't fare much better than him. All he could think about was America, likely boarding a plane at this very moment or even already in the air. He wondered what she had thought about for the last two days, what she thought about now as she flew, if she had Canada to distract her from her thoughts – or if she would share those thoughts with him.

So he sat through the service, letting his mind stray to what-if situations about how she would arrive, and when they would get the chance to talk, and what they would say when they finally did. But with such limited hints of information on how this conversation would go, Iceland found his mind returning again and again to the bygone days.

* * *

 _circa 1000CE_

Iceland never thought he would feel relief at his siblings returning to their own lands in that faraway place called Europa. Greenland had grown enough that the nations trusted the villagers to raise him until they could return, and Iceland had no intention of babysitting him anymore.

He sailed with them back to Greenland and then to his own home for the sake of keeping up appearances as much to check in with his own people. Erikson was remarkably adept at keeping both his and others' mouths shut, and not a word about the colony, which Iceland had yet to name, came up during the entirety of their trip.

Once they landed on Iceland's shores, Norway and Denmark tasked him with returning to Vinland as soon as he could to keep an eye on Vinland. To say the island country was displeased with their request was an understatement; however, soft-spoken Vinland had not caused nearly as much trouble as Greenland had at the equivalent age. At the very least, babysitting duty offered him a cover story under which he could slip back to his own colony.

The men stayed a week with their families, recovering from the first sea voyage and preparing for the next, and at the end of that week the older Nordics sailed back to the mainland while Iceland set a course for the new lands to the west.

He stopped in very briefly at Vinland, but did not allow himself to be seen by the small child before he once again boarded his ship and sailed further south. Fewer men came with him this time, as the settlers at the new colony seemed confident in their ability to weather a comparatively mild winter.

When they landed on the shores of the furthest settlement, Iceland was surprised to see that the village had grown in size, and crept closer to the sandy beach than before. He stood at his customary place at the bow, and as the keel ground into the shallow sands, the door to a house opened.

She did not appear to have grown much, although her hair had gained no small amount of length and several small braids ran through it. Her clothes seemed a mixture of the Viking Nations and the Native Tribes, but very sturdy, and just as androgynous as ever. She paused in the doorway for only a moment before a wide smile threatened to split her face, and she catapulted down to greet the ship.

Iceland hopped down and hurried up the banks, worried that she might continue charging into the surf if he did nothing. She barreled into his arms with a deceptive strength and laughed as he scooped her up and spun her over his head, giggling and chanting his name. "Iceland! Big Brother! You're back!"

"Ja." He pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry I was gone so long, little sister. I had to take care of some things. I promise I'll stay longer this time and make it up to you."

She looked heartened by the news. "Really? The Elder said that you would teach me lots of things and ever since you left, the villagers and the Great Tribes have taken turns watching me. They showed me how to do a lot of things, but they don't let me go hunting or anything because they say I'm too little." Her cheeks puffed out in frustration, and Iceland had to restrain himself from squeezing her in a tight hug. Why did she have to look so… adorable?

"If it helps any, I know that you will start growing soon. And I need you to be able to protect yourself during the times that I cannot be with you. What have the villagers and the Tribes been teaching you?" He pulled her up and placed her on his shoulders as they walked back to the settlement, and she gripped his hair tightly, pleased with the increase in altitude. He smiled again at her joy, contentedly enduring the small, sharp tugs on his hair. Feeling her on his shoulders, knowing she was here and safe, more than made up for the slight discomfort.

"The women of the Tribes have started teaching me how to harvest and preserve crops. They said they wanted to teach me to plant once the weather gets warmer. They also talked about making clothes and pottery, but they didn't want to show me any weapons, so they didn't let the men teach me anything like that yet. The villagers here have taught me how to prepare meat sometimes, and how they make clothes, and how to make fire. But they haven't taught me how to build a house yet. Can you teach me all of that, big brother?"

Iceland smiled as she prattled. "I intend to." When they got into the village, he set her down and let her lead the way into the house the villagers set aside as his. As he made himself comfortable in the house and started up a fire (with some elementary assistance from his sister), he listened as she described the winter, the tales of both peoples, and the meetings between villagers and Tribes.

The Tribes bothered him. Iceland tried to set aside his emotions on the issue and examine the relationship his sister had with each of them from a purely practical angle, but he could not entirely force down his impulsive thoughts. The Tribes were foreign, and never interacted much with the Vikings; they seemed peaceful enough, but some Tribes clearly had a warrior bent, and where Iceland might have felt secure with support from his brothers in Vinland, here he had no one but his mortal followers against many natives and their personifications, millennia old.

Should the natives feel threatened by the Viking settlement, or should the settlers become too greedy, too aggressive, a miniature war might break out. The nightmarish vision of his little sister, barely a toddler, screaming and burning just as her settlement burned before fading away like the ashes in the wind haunted Iceland's thoughts every night as he waited for sleep.

He needed a way to defend her, and the best path lay in teaching her to defend herself.

In the ideal scenario, he could convince the Tribes to accept her fully, and convince their people to never harm her. If he managed to do so, she would always have a safe harbor with the Tribes here. But in order to force such a scenario, he needed a method that would grant him the respect or trust of the Tribes, and he had precious little information to go on. Would challenging one to a duel spur them into observing him as an equal Nation, and would such a meeting command their respect if he demonstrated that he could fight as well as a man? Would they react positively to a trade, or to Viking weapons and religion? How could he protect her?

"Iceland?"

He looked up and realized the deer he had been skinning had been reduced to very fine slivers of meat in his absentminded zeal. His little sister glanced at the result with bemusement before focusing her wide blue gaze on Iceland's hunched form. "The villagers call me Suðurland, but they said most other people like us have normal names. Even the Tribes do. But I don't have one…"

Oh, how did he keep forgetting? Iceland set aside his preparations for dinner and studied his sister's face carefully. "That's true. I have told you about my brothers, right?" She nodded. Iceland had told her yes, told her so far as 'they are vicious warriors who would hurt you, so stay away from them' counted. She only remembered vague physical descriptions Iceland had provided, augmented by horrific imagination-spun tales of danger. "Finland has the name Ilmarinen. Sweden calls himself Björn. Denmark is Magnus. Norway calls himself Sigurd. And my name, when I am with people who don't know that I am a Country, is Eirikur."

Suðurland nodded, understanding some of the terms thanks to the sagas the settlers told her. "But those are all names for boys. Well… I guess I wouldn't mind a boy name. I could be Little Eirikur!" She laughed when Iceland turned a funny shade at the idea. However, he took her suggestion seriously.

"If you want, you can pick out a boy name and a girl name," he suggested.

Suðurland brightened. "I like that idea! My boy name is Ari!" she chirped, and Iceland blinked, surprised at not getting a say in that at all. However, she deflated when she could not come up with a suitable female name. "Big brother, I don't know many girls' names. The villagers talk about the girls they know, but I don't know if I like any of their names. Can you pick one out?" And her blue eyes could not be denied.

Iceland contemplated for a while, Suðurland watching him attentively. "Hm… What do you think of Asta?"

His sister tilted her head to the side, staring at nothing in particular as she tried on the name in her head. "I dunno, Eirikur, but I'll use it for a little while and see if I like it, okay?" She turned to go find some more food to help Iceland prepare dinner, but paused and looked back at him with curiosity. "What does it mean, anyway?"

Iceland blushed, set down the knife he was using to slice the meat, and rubbed her head. "Beautiful land," he muttered. Well, that was close enough, anyway.

Asta blinked, blushed, and burst into giggles as she watched Iceland carefully avoid her gaze and turn red. "I like it already, big brother!" She laughed as she toddled over to get some preserved vegetables. "Now let's eat!"

* * *

 _the present day_

Norway seemed to have noticed him not paying attention during the service, but said nothing of it. And if he thought anything in particular over Iceland's barely-concealed excitement for the arrival of the North American twins, he made no move to bring attention to it. They drove back to the lodge in silence, and Iceland attempted to while away the hours afterwards, impatient for a loud knock on the door.

Did the twins even know that they were meeting them at this cabin? Or where to find it?

Now that he thought about it, Iceland didn't even know what Finland's exact plans were. Rather than continue pointlessly mulling it over on his own, Iceland pulled himself up from his armchair and made his way into the kitchen. Inside he found Finland and Denmark working on dinner, which was strange all by itself even before he factored in Denmark's rather frilly apron.

"Yo, Ice. What's up?"

"Are America and Canada meeting us here tonight, or in Stockholm tomorrow?"

"Oh, I gave them directions, so hopefully they won't get lost!" Finland said. "Although if they do, I win by default," he added in a maniacal mutter that had Denmark retreating to the fridge for vegetables. Iceland merely blinked. Then he sighed. "They might find it hard to read the highway signs. Knowing America's opinion of a 'world map' it will take them a week to get here."

Denmark laughed at that. "Well, she's got _Canadia_ with her. I'm sure they can't get too lost."

"And, just for the record, I can speak Swedish."

Iceland stiffened, Denmark yelped, and Finland whipped around brandishing his spatula at the kitchen's intruder before the three of them took in the figures of America and Canada, standing in the doorway leading in from the sitting room. Norway and Sweden had silently escorted them in. How had they missed that? Canada looked put out with the faintest bits of amusement in his gaze, while America feigned annoyance at the Nordics' lack of faith in her abilities but made no effort to hide her grin.

Denmark found his voice first, recovering with a characteristic booming laugh. "You're here!" he cheered, as though no one else had seen them yet. He took wide strides and crossed the width of the kitchen in three steps before pulling Canada into a one-armed hug that made the bespectacled nation turn faintly pink and give a huff as the air was knocked out of his lungs. Denmark released Canada after a moment and let the other nation stabilize himself, while Finland took the opportunity to give Canada a warm welcome of his own, heedless of their imminent competition. When it came to greeting America, Denmark actually looked unsure of how to proceed, but since Norway, Sweden, and Sealand were starting to gather to greet their guests, he also gave her a brief one-armed hug.

He had done that a lot prior to World War Two, but Iceland saw that even Denmark felt awkward doing that now.

The kitchen erupted with a flurry of small talk as the Nordics greeted the North Americans and the twins got themselves situated and comfortable. Sweden and Norway offered polite hellos to both twins, and Sealand bounded around with more enthusiasm than anyone expected, causing Finland to scold him for eating candy right before dinner. Sensing that no food would get prepared any time soon if he did not take initiative, Iceland examined the dishes Finland and Denmark had started working on, deduced what they wanted from the final product, and picked up where they left off.

That went fine for about ten seconds until he was suddenly hugged from behind. "Hey, Icey!"

America had clearly made a valiant effort not to make him go deaf, but he still startled at the sudden noise bomb next to his ear and almost dropped his knife. Still, even if Finland caught sight of this and giggled, and Norway spotted it and fractionally widened his eyes with surprise, he could not find it within him to be anything other than marginally annoyed at the intrusion.

Because really, hugs were nice.

After ten minutes of general confusion as to guest room logistics and dinner preparations, the twins got their luggage to the very last guest room available in the cabin and the table was set and ready for dinner. It was dark outside by the time all eight nations gathered around the table, pulling chairs from several other rooms in the house, and actually sat down to eat.

"So, how was your flight over? Not too busy I hope," Finland asked.

"Well, there were less passengers due to Easter, so it was rather quiet on the plane," Canada replied.

"And ya left Kuma at home so you didn't freak out any TSA agents this time," America quipped. Canada gave her a small glare, and Iceland blinked. Had Canada tried to bring that polar bear on a plane _out_ of his country before? Before anyone could ask something to that effect, the quiet nation steered the conversation away from that direction. "We didn't have much trouble getting out of the airport-"

"-you'rewelcome," America coughed, while Denmark grinned.

Another glare. "-but the drive was a bit long, and we got on the wrong road once."

"I did a ton better than _you_ would have. At least _I_ can read the signs," America griped, reminding the Nordics that she had, in fact, spoken in Swedish when she'd surprised the three chefs with her magic entrance.

"You can speak Swedish, America?" Sealand asked, with no small amount of curiosity in his voice.

"Eh, not _fluently_ fluently, but, you know, good enough." America put down her utensils and pointed at her head with both hands, gesturing at herself flamboyantly. "No official languages, dude. Makes it real easy to pick up on new ones. Great way to piss off England, too. Get back at him for saying you need to learn other languages by conducting the entirety of your next meeting with him in Hawaiian." Faint rumbles of amusement went around the table at that, but America, completely famished from her 'grueling' experience driving with 'my totally unhelpful bilingual bro', attacked her dinner once again. Sealand seemed to want to know more about her multilingual capabilities, but since America was doing a fantastic job of intimidating the rest of the table with her bottomless pit of a stomach, he digressed.

"So we heard ya went camping with Icey here!" Denmark grinned. "What was that like?"

"I already told you about it," Iceland griped.

His complaint went ignored. "It was really nice to get out in the outdoors. Kind of chilly, but that's the Northwest Territory for you." Canada shrugged. "I'm just glad we had a lot of warm clothes."

"And dude, those sweaters!" America resurfaced from eating and shrugged off her jacket to reveal the sweater Iceland had given to (and made for) her. "These things are boss at keeping body heat in! I've been wearing mine a lot." She grinned at Iceland, oblivious to his and the other Nordics' varying reactions. "I don't know if I said thanks properly before, Ice, but this sweater is awesome."

Iceland wished the floor would swallow him whole. Why couldn't he access the gates to hell when he needed them…? He shrunk in his seat and managed to mumble a "you're welcome", hoping that the stunned look on Denmark's face wouldn't lead into a chorus of laughter, or that the intense stare on Norway's face wouldn't turn into a frown focused on him.

Sealand, however, had also missed the way Finland gaped at America's clothing, mouth a perfect o shape, and how Sweden's face, normally set in at least a marginal glare, had gone perfectly blank as he examined the red, white, and blue color scheme of the sweater. Therefore, Iceland was grateful for Sealand's interruption for the very brief of time in between the second the micronation opened his mouth and the utterance of the very first word.

"Canada, Finland was telling me that you're my older brother in two ways!" he chirped.

Within a few moments, that statement had everyone's attention. Canada blinked at Sealand blankly while Finland's attention was diverted by his name. Norway and Sweden watched the interaction carefully, and Denmark, after realizing the full import of what Sealand asked, settled down.

Iceland didn't even dare to look at America. That she hadn't spoken up was surprising.

"Two ways?" Canada repeated politely.

"Yes! I know you're my big brother because we both have British heritage, but a couple of days ago Finland was telling me about some Viking settlement discovered on your lands. So you're related to Vikings?"

Canada laughed, slightly sheepish. "Oh, you're talking about L'Anse-aux-Meadows. It was excavated in the… sixties? Seventies? To date, it's the only accepted evidence of pre-Columbian trans-Atlantic travel," he recited proudly. "And historians believe – correctly," he interjected conspiratorially," that it's the site of the Viking settlement Vinland."

Sealand looked amazed. "That is so cool! You're part Viking! Do you remember a lot about being Vinland? Does that mean you're brothers? Oh, are you a berserker?!" The child suddenly looked intimidated.

Bombarded with so many questions, Canada seemed flustered. "Well, since most of my heritage is French and British, the Nordics and I are more like distantly-related cousins nowadays. I don't remember a lot about that time, since it was so long ago and I was so small, but I do remember them from back then. And… I don't think I'm a berserker, but…" He wheeled on Finland with a challenging smirk, and everyone inched away from the table as Finland met Canada's defiance head on with an angelic smile. Sparks began to fly, rivalling in intensity to Russia and America's spats or England and Tony's glaring contests.

Strangely, America hadn't retreated. In fact, she seemed so engrossed in her food that the atmosphere went completely over her head. That was, until she suddenly stopped eating, and looked up with a confused, calculating, somewhat worried frown on her face.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait," she said, garnering some attention. "If you were born in the Viking era," she pointed her fork at Canada accusingly. "Then… you're older than me?!" she finished with an angry screech.

Silence permeated the kitchen, all bravado and hostility from Canada and Finland's staredown forgotten as everyone stared at America's dramatics askance. It actually took Canada half a minute to recover under the weight of her bright blue stare, but as she fixed her frown on him, realization slowly dawned on his face and a wicked grin replaced his earlier confusion.

"I'm you're _big brother_ ," he said, and the Nordics experienced a violent sense of deja-vu.

"Bullshit," America snarled, earning her a reproving "language" from Sweden, but even she sounded unconvinced.

Iceland risked a glance at Denmark. The grin on his face was so wide it could split the planet in two.

"It is most definitely not cow excrement, little sister," Canada all but purred, and Iceland could feel his eyebrow twitch reflexive. Hell, he thought he could feel America's eyebrow-twitch from the opposite end of the table. "I've always thought of you as older, and now there's proof you're not~! So say it! I want to hear you call me big brother."

"It'll be a cold day in hell before that happens, bro," she scoffed.

"That's _big_ bro," he reprimanded with a finger wave.

"No."

"Say it."

"Not gonna."

I think you want to~."

"No I _don't~_."

"Come on… pleeeease?"

"Not saying it!"

"Big brother!"

"Don't know you!"

"Big brotherrrr!"

"Okay, okay, settle down," Finland finally coughed, waving his arms for peace. America hesitantly brought her hands away from her ears and Canada looked up from his spot behind her shoulder where he had loomed over her menacingly. Denmark was practically drowning in his drink from both laughter and coughing, and Norway made a halfhearted attempt to help him, clearly paying more attention to the shenanigans at the table that he was observing with a wobbly grin. And Iceland was not looking at him, no, he wasn't going to look, wasn't going to catch the amusement glittering in Norway's eyes at how similar the North American twins were.

Twins.

Inside, Iceland froze. His older brother would quickly pick up on the myriad parallels – hell, the entire table was in an uproar over the coincidence. Even Sweden couldn't restrain a grin as Canada enveloped his "little sister" in a hug, pestering her to call him that just once. Now he didn't dare make eye contact with Norway. He still couldn't explain _why_ he wanted to keep Suðurland a secret; it's not like revealing that secret entailed punishment. Was it shame, then? Or continual pestering by his older siblings? He schooled his face into a semblance of a smirk that meant 'now you know how I feel' to America, just as Sealand's gaze landed on him to gauge his reaction.

"Okay, seriously."

Iceland focused on America as she pried Canada off her – he had been playfully pinching her cheeks.

"If this is going to keep cropping up it's gonna be hella annoying, bro," she warned him.

Canada had the decency to look abashed, a light dusting of pink on his face. The Nordics watched in silence, no doubt reflecting on their own treatment of their little brother. Iceland noted with some satisfaction that no one seemed to meet his gaze. "That's what I've been saying for years," Iceland muttered.

Unfortunately, America heard him. "Whoa, you too? Yeah, let's get some solidarity up in here!" she hooted, leaping up and dashing around the table. She offered her fist, and Iceland bumped with only the slightest hesitation and a wry grin.

It seemed that she had picked up on Iceland's desire for discreet mention of the past, and chosen to abide by his unspoken wish.

Before anyone else could think of anything to say, Sealand broke the tension with a huge yawn. Finland chuckled and sighed contentedly. "Well, I suppose we're all tired after such a long day. We should all head to sleep soon. Especially since we have our little competition soon." The atmosphere immediately darkened, and Finland's suggestion was met with a round of agreements and general evacuation of the kitchen area. Iceland ambled out at his own pace, intent on missing the commotion that involved who was using which bathroom at what time. He ended up taking refuge in the loft, safe on his bed with a book to occupy his time.

That was, until he heard a knock on the door and America peeked in, almost shyly.

"Since they're all busy now, do you want to talk?"

Iceland paused, then sat up and set his book down. "Well… I want to," he said, fidgeting with his shirt. "But who knows who's listening with this many people in the house…"

America paused and thought that over for a minute. "Yeah, I guess you're right," she shrugged. Then she brightened. "But hey, we can talk about something else. Like battle strategy. Wanna form an alliance? Or team up with Canada? He's pretty fierce when someone manages to rouse him."

"I don't think you managed to catch a glimpse of Finland during the Winter War," Iceland snorted, shuddering as he recalled both the demonic scowls and the frightening angelic grins that had even Russia running for the hills. "It'd be better if we stayed on his good side."

America feigned a shocked gasp. "Are you telling me to team up against Canada?"

Iceland's eyebrow quirked, and he forced his grin down. "Are you telling me to team up against Finland?"

"Oh, Iceland, I see how it is now," America gasped again, pressing a hand over her chest. "It seems that neither of us will sway the other. We will let the results of tomorrow's game do the talking," she quipped.

The grin was getting harder to keep down. "I suppose we will. Until then, we meet on the battlefield not as friends, but as the most bitter of enemies," he snarked in a flat voice.

"Then farewell, and also, we're totally gonna kick your ass," America winked, tossing her dramatic airs with no small amount of sass as she sauntered out of Iceland's guest bedroom. She broke face and cackled. "Have a good night, Ice. See ya in the morning!" She shut the door, and was gone.

* * *

End Chapter Thirteen

* * *

1) For America's name as a Viking settlement I just constructed a word which, if Google Translate can be trusted (it probably can't) equates to "southern land". Also, picking out what was hopefully names appropriate to the Viking era for the Nordics and America was easy except for Finland's. I get really leery about foreign words and always cringe when I have to use them half-blind.

2) I feel like Canada being forgotten is over-emphasized in Hetalia, so the nations are more often than not pretending to forget Canada in reference to his usually non-confrontational nature.

3) Most of the fandom is divided on America's ability with multiple languages and the two main camps are "I only speak American bro" or "I'm a genius and know every language, past, present, and future." In my opinion, I feel that the lack of an official language merely makes it easier for America as a person to pick up on other languages than other personifications, and the reason America has a grasp on so many, even at an intermediate level, is because of the people from all over the world living in the States. My other slight headcanon is that without an official language, America strictly wouldn't even speak English fluently, but that's either a really hilarious or really difficult headcanon to execute.

4) I am convinced that Finland is by far the scariest Nordic when he wants to be, if not the scariest nation. Finland/Belarus crackpair; I ship it.

5) OH MY GOD ICELAND, JUST TALK TO AMERICA SO THE PLOT CAN MOVE ALREADY. DAMN.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, 8 January 2016: So, immediately after uploading chapter 13, I went to go see _Star Wars: The Force Awakens._ And during the movie, when I was doing absolutely _nothing_ with my hands, my left (dominant) hand decided to acquire a nasty case of tendonitis in the wrist. I've been keeping it in a brace all week and this chapter was very slow to type around the brace, so I'll be fixing spelling errors after my wrist's little bitchfit dies down. But for now, enjoy the chapter!

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Fourteen

* * *

When Iceland came down for breakfast the next morning, he thought a second Cold War had suddenly erupted while he slept. Canada kept to one side of the kitchen making pancakes, while Finland stayed on the other side and made a smattering of breakfast sandwiches that would suit the tastes of everyone at the table. Iceland blinked between them; the electric current of their competition could probably power a hybrid car…

The table, placed and oriented very deliberately between the two nations, sported a very odd seating arrangement. The Scandinavians all huddled at the extreme end of the table near Finland. Sealand sat near the center, fascinated by the atmosphere. America – wearing her lopapeysa _again_ , Iceland could practically feel his cheeks blooming – lounged in her seat near the extreme end of Canada's side with such carelessness that she almost looked oblivious to the mood, until Iceland saw her look up from her phone, survey the situation – which hadn't changed one bit – and grin slightly ruthlessly.

Iceland was _so excited_ for the afternoon's events. By which of course he meant he was terrified.

And the first hurdle, of course, was figuring out where to sit at the damn table. If he sat next to America, that would look all kinds of suspicious, not to mention treasonous. Even sitting in the middle placed him under scrutiny. But huddling in the back with his older brothers put him in the crosshairs of the challenging gazes America currently exchanged with Denmark, and watching the actual Cold War play out had given him enough experience with that sort of tension.

Oh god, the Cuban Missile Crisis, _oh god._

He cursed said God for making him think so intensely about which chair to sit his ass in so early in the morning before deciding on a relatively safe space between Sweden and Sealand. There. Just enough to prove his loyalty to Team Nordic, and just enough to not enough to draw America's ire, no matter how joking it seemed.

The only good that came out of the breakfast was its quality. Finland and Canada seemed to be competing with each other in all kinds of ways this morning, so Canada's pancakes were "out of this world", according to America, much more acclimated to his cuisine, and Finland's breakfast sandwiches were delicious. Iceland, personally, preferred light food in the morning and only chose the protein-heavy servings because he knew he would need them direly this afternoon.

From what he had gathered, the initial idea of a sniper competition had taken root and grown into something much more wild and dangerous – an all-out paintball fest. The sniping competition would take place as planned, but Canada and Finland decided to get the games going by having a four-vs-four paintball competition on an arena that Sweden had taken great pains (and funds) to reserve for just them – nobody wanted a clueless human bumbling into the middle of something as ferocious as this.

Iceland realized that, in order to have equally-sized teams, two people from "Team Nordic" were needed on "Team North America". Of course, he didn't have any particular preference where he ended up, not at all, but he couldn't help but wonder if the two chosen people would simply resort to sabotage. He almost groaned as he realized he was "jumping the gun" yet again; they still needed to get to the actual arena, and that meant a drive either packed into the van with five other people, or huddled into the back of America's rental vehicle.

All of this whole paintballing/sniper contest fiasco was fascinating. It really was.

After a tense half an hour of eating and subdued chatter, the nations started drifting to grab their phones, wallets, jackets, and spare clothes. Finland and Canada both packed with the same serene smile on their faces, and combined with their almost tangible maniacal desire to take a pair of rifles and fill the air with lead, even Sweden gave them a wide berth, muttering very softly about how the family resemblance never stuck out more.

Finally, all eight nations assembled by the front door, carrying the things they wanted to bring for the day. They filed out of the cabin and waited as Sweden locked up behind them, and Denmark mocked the twins' choice in rental car while Finland started loading things into the Nordic van.

"Can I ride with Canada? Please? I want to ask him more about Vinland! Oh! And I want to know more about America's languages!" Sealand suddenly spoke up, tugging on Sweden's sleeve. "It's really crowded in the van and there's only two of them in that car so there's more room. Please?"

Ordinarily, Finland wouldn't have cared, but his competitive streak seemed to actually be affecting his judgment. Before this could turn into a weird logistics-are-loyalty argument, Iceland spoke up. "I wanna have some room to stretch my legs. I'll ride with them too."

The fact that he was barely asking for permission did not go unnoticed. Silence permeated for a second before Norway – of the four of them, _Norway_ – spoke up. "Whatever works. I just want to get there already. If we're late to our match we'll miss the lunch hour."

Well. It seemed his older brother was taking steps, a little at a time. Iceland was more than a little appreciative of that.

Iceland blew a puff of air, and with that settled, he ambled over to the rental car with his hands in his pockets. Sealand, emboldened by the act, hurried over to the opposite side. Neither twin seemed perturbed; Canada, in fact, looked a little grateful. Without any more fuss, the rest of the Nordics loaded into the van and took the lead on the road.

* * *

"All right, just keep following them," Canada suggested in a voice close to praying. "Then we won't get lost."

"Excuse me? I only made one wrong turn and that was because the numbers on the exit ramp were faded!" America feigned outrage. "I was doing just fine the whole trip!"

Canada muttered something about "the whole trip" taking less than an hour, because of America's chosen velocity as much as the actual distance traversed.

"I could do it again and be at this place an hour before them," America quipped.

Iceland's heart sank as he glanced up and, through the rear-view mirror, saw an intense flash of _something_ spark in Canada's gaze. However, he seemed to remember himself a moment later. "You almost gave me a heart attack last time. And we have passengers now, we'd just get told off, if not arrested."

America snorted. "Thanks for reminding me: never take Iggy on the Autobahn. Fuckin' killjoy," she muttered darkly.

Both Canada and Iceland snorted, and Sealand used the opportunity to lean forward in his seat. "So, America, how easy is it to speak something like Swedish?"

"Well, I already sort of said it's easy for me to pick up on new languages, and actually putting in the time to memorize vocab does help a lot. Spanish is way easy for me now. For something like Swedish… I dunno. I just have to be really calm, and settle my senses into my people that emigrated from Sweden and still speak Swedish. And then I find that it all just clicks. So, when I'm not thinking about anything in particular, I get the basics of a lot of languages, and then if I focus it all-"

"America, you lost half of your audience around the time you started talking about things clicking," Iceland said, voice deadpan.

"… huh?" She blinked.

"You started transitioning into Swedish around 'click'," Canada muttered.

"Well, what did you expect to happen?" she groused.

"… Point."

Sealand seemed fascinated by the ability, and started wondering out loud if he could do something like that too. Iceland doubted it, more because of the population of Sealand than any other reason… but, hypothetically, if Sealand had ten inhabitants that spoke twenty languages between them and Sealand had no official language, would it be possibly that he could be even more fluent in all those languages than America? It was an interesting thought exercise.

While he was pondering this, Sealand had gone back to asking Canada about Vinland, who gave honest if not vague answers to a lot of Sealand's questions. While time had blurred a lot of things for even Iceland, he definitely recalled some of the things Canada was relaying to Sealand; there had been at least one violent confrontation between the natives and the settlers, and nobody could forget the parlay between the Vikings and the Natives that had ended with the Natives bestowing Canada with his immortal polar bear companion, Nanuq – seeing the spirit suddenly manifest had caused even Norway to bowl over in shock.

That had been slightly funny. Well, more than slightly funny.

America kept silent while Canada and Sealand conversed – both chalked it up to her need to focus on the Swedish signage whenever she couldn't immediately see the Nordic van ahead of her. However, Iceland knew better, because at one point she shot him a glance in the rear-view mirror. She glanced to her right, at Canada, and quirked her brow. _Does he know? About us?_

Iceland barely shook his head. _No._ _None of them do._

America's lips mimed a whistle. _Whoa._

Their silent conversation came to an end, however, when Sweden's van made an exit off the highway and America had to engage more than just passively following. It took about fifteen minutes to get to the paintball arena, and another half an hour to get checked in, change into the spare clothes that no one cared about ruining, don their armor, and acquire their paintball weapons. The humans mostly left them alone, aware that they were serving important clients that happened to be self-sufficient.

They decided on a game of capture the flag, and since the nations were both tough enough and competitive enough to get rid of the elimination rule, they settled on defining an "elimination" as getting their bulky vests completely covered in paint. Time limit would be until 28:00, since they had to fly to Bern the next day for the World Meeting.

America geared up surprisingly fast, but then Iceland remembered the insane military complex she sported. The second the paintball gun was in her hands, she had gotten more serious than Iceland remembered ever seeing her, and already she was poring over a map of the arena as well as checking it against what she could see from the buildings. Iceland looked up when Canada appeared over her shoulder, more or less following her movements, and Iceland suddenly had second thoughts about immediately going with Team Nordic.

All three of them looked up when the argument between Finland and Sealand about whose team Sealand would be on rose in volume. Both Finland and Sweden seemed reluctant to let him be on the North American team, which only served to irritate the micronation more. Denmark and Norway were watching on slightly awkwardly, put out but the argument between their brothers and adoptive "nephew".

If this kept up, they would never get to the actual tournament. Denmark, Norway, and Iceland all seemed to realize this at the same time, because each of them, at the same moment, suddenly said, "I'll go with him."

Well, that was one way to stop an argument. And start another.

"Wait, so it's… two-verse-two-verse-four?" Canada asked. He quirked his brow. Sweden and Finland, against Canada and America, against Denmark, Norway, Iceland, and Sealand made for an interesting mental picture.

"I'm fine partnering up with Sealand," Iceland sighed. Well, here was a whole new dilemma.

"I'll be sure to make sure he doesn't get hit in the face," Norway added his own opinion.

"I wouldn't let a speck of paint get on him!" Denmark boasted proudly.

Sealand looked even more annoyed at being spoken about like he absolutely needed protecting, but America, oblivious again, stepped in. "I vote Denmark for Team Awesome!" she crowed. At everyone's curious looks, she shrugged. "No offense bro, but you're not as broad as either of them, so Denmark would be a balancing asset to our team." Canada looked simultaneously miffed and understanding at her assessment, while Denmark considered what it would be like being on the same team as America, beamed, and whooped. And then America decided to test the waters. "Plus, didn't he and Sweden, like, use to fight more than England or France ever did? They have the most wars between them, I think. It'll be just like old times!" she crowed, looking mighty proud of herself with hands on her hips.

Iceland silently facepalmed as Sweden and Denmark both blinked at the realization and sized each other up, no small amount of competitive and even combative gleam between them.

Even when playing diplomat, America brought gasoline to a house fire.

"Plus, Sweden is too smart to face off against Finland when he's like this."

"Yeah- wait, what?!" Denmark's challenging growl turned into indignant outrage.

Sweden and Iceland snorted. Finland giggled. Even Norway smirked. America laughed carelessly as she patted Denmark on the elbow and half-heartedly tried to appease him, flustering the Scandinavian nation further. Sealand, comparing Denmark and Sweden, finally decided that he would, in fact, rather be on Sweden's team if push came to shove, since that looked like it had a very real possibility of happening. After a minute, she gave up. "Okay, so Norway, Sweden, Finland, Sealand versus Canada, Denmark, Iceland, and 'MURICA! Let's get this show on the road!" And without waiting for a start signal, she grabbed all three of her teammates and their team flag and hauled them off into the woods.

Iceland sighed as she all but picked him up in her zeal. He could feel exhaustion creeping in already.

* * *

"You can climb, right, Denmark?"

"Uh-"

Canada made a zip-your-lips motion and shot a quick warning glare at America before pointing to the treetops and taking to one of the trees himself. America shrugged, nodded after her twin, and picked her own tree to climb.

Iceland stared after them incredulously. The coniferous trees obscured their vision of the ground below just as much as it gave them a better vantage point, and if anyone on the other team found them, they would be trapped, or at the very least easy targets. Denmark seemed to have the same thinking that he did, in addition to reservations about climbing up, as 'broad' as he was.

Why were they in such a hurry to climb the trees? Given that their match had just started, the other team was likely still on the other side of the forest, sitting around making their own plans. No need to fan out yet.

"I'll climb up and ask what they're thinking," Iceland volunteered.

"All right. I'll get to cover. Tell me what you find out when you know," Denmark replied, slinking off to do just that.

So Iceland hefted his paintball gun and started climbing a tree between the two the twins had taken, wondering when and how they learned to climb trees so fast, along with why they had chosen to do so at this point in the game.

By the time he had climbed high enough to maintain a conversation, Denmark had found cover in the underbrush (Iceland only found him because he waved to mark his location), Canada had found a wide and sturdy branch and assumed a sniper's crouch, and America had taken advantage of her light body to climb slightly higher, removing her mask and scoping out the forest with a pair of binoculars.

"I didn't realize we got binoculars", Iceland griped quietly, raising his mask himself.

" 'S not cheating if it's not officially against rules," America quipped.

"So… why are we up here? Denmark doesn't want to climb trees since he's so 'broad'."

America scoffed. "Well, we went over the rules for this game. Capture the flag, no penalty for close-range shooting (unless it's Sealand), elimination only happens if your entire vest gets covered in paint. I can guarantee you Finland's already in his own tree."

Well… she probably wasn't wrong, all things considered.

"So, Bro and I are scoping. He's got a better eye for these things so we'll be making our move in…" she checked her watch, "I'd say fifteen, twenty minutes."

Iceland raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Well, with _Broady_ guarding the flag and Canada serving as counter-sniper to Finland, that leaves you and me to actually get the enemy flag!" she explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world. All Iceland could conjure were horrific images of America dragging him into a suicidal charge against the combined paint onslaught of Sealand, Sweden, Norway, and Finland.

Oh god, Finland, _oh god._

"I'm having serious misgivings about your plan." Iceland leveled an almost blank-faced glare at America. No use in hiding it.

America shrugged. "If you want to switch places with Denmark and guard the flag that's fine. I just need a support. Someone to recover the flag with me, all awesome and heroic-like."

Iceland's mind unconsciously supplied boastful cheers and triumphant victory shouting a la America, with the boisterous nation posed over the opposition's paint-splattered bodies, brandishing a flag and waiting for a shower of accolades. His eye twitched with amusement. Annoyance. One or the other. "Two things. One, I don't know how well Denmark would react to serving as support, and two, even if someone covered you, you're still charging on their base so you're their immediate target. Not much your support can do, regardless of who it is."

"Aw shit!" America seemed not to have heard him. "I forgot about these!" Iceland's eyes widened as he saw her fiddle with the elastic waistband around her ratty sweatpants, but sighed in relief when America did nothing more than pull four walky-talkies-

Wait.

Iceland started, then hissed, "How did you even-?!"

How did she even _forget-_

"Ah, the benefits of being the only female of the group and being forced into a different changing room," she sighed with amused tranquility. She sent one sailing into the neighbor tree, where Canada caught it without taking his eyes away from his scope. She sent two at Iceland, who barely managed to catch them, and equipped the last. "Get the last one to Denmark."

Iceland sighed and did as he was instructed.

Apparently Denmark did not get the memo, because a loud "OW!" rang through the clearing once Iceland had dropped it into the brush Denmark was using for cover.

After five minutes, an extremely vulgar back-and-forth hushed shouting match in which _Canada_ displayed fluent and gratuitous Québécois French cursing telling Denmark to shut up, and quite a few more one-finger salutes than strictly necessary, all four of them were communicatingthrough the walky-talkies.

"Did you really need to throw that on my head, Ice? Geez."

"I didn't mean to," Iceland griped.

"Hey, guys? Can we kiss and make up and move on now?" America sounded slightly irritated. "We've got about eight minutes before we make our move. Canada, whatcha got?"

"No sign of anyone on the opposing team yet," he replied, voice terse. He was clearly agitated that he couldn't find Finland amid the foliage. Iceland considered telling Canada about Finland's tactics during the Winter War, but when he heard Denmark's muffled cackle he realized that it could be considered a form of cheating, if such a thing existed in a game like this.

"They'll make their positions known soon enough," America responded, voice ominous. "So here's our plan. Denmark, you're guarding our flag. Iceland and I will take their flag. Canada will cover us and open a fresh can of whipass. And we will _totally dominate_ these bitches."

Iceland took some mild exception to his family being referred to as "bitches". America was nearly as competitive about this as her brother.

"How come I have to guard our flag?" Denmark hissed into the talker. Clearly he was miffed about not being able to blow off some steam against Sweden. "Iceland has seen less actual combat than any of us, he should be guarding the flag!"

Well, now Iceland wanted to cover America just to spite Denmark. "You got a problem with my training, Dan?" he snapped.

"You don't even have a standing military."

"I have a Coast Guard!"

"I have Mounties," Canada interjected unhelpfully, the barest tinges of amusement leaking through his serious voice.

"And _I_ have half a mind to put you both on guard duty," America deadpanned.

"Dan, if you have a problem with my combat skills, maybe I should remind you that _you_ were the one who taught me military tactics," Iceland griped. Which was true enough; when Denmark had lost Norway after the Treaty of Kiel, he gave Iceland, Greenland, and the Faroe Islands a hell of a time when it came to politics and military. Iceland went through all the rounds himself and had faith in his abilities; hell, that, plus his overprotective relatives, was part of the reason he chose not to have a standing military in the first place.

Denmark was still fishing for a retort when Canada suddenly shushed them. "I see movement. Left of that tree with the red stripe running down it," he reported. The bickering three snapped to attention and subtly moved so they could see Canada's marker, but whoever it was couldn't be spotted by the rest of them; Canada just had an eye for it.

Iceland felt the beginnings of apprehension knot in his stomach despite knowing it was just a game, albeit a highly competitive one. Screw Denmark, he was backing America up. He had something to _prove_ now. He watched as America silently vacated her position in the tree, making her way quickly to the ground. He followed suit, dropping down about ten feet from the ground.

He hurried over to her and crouched defensively while she pressed her back to a tree, pulled her rifle closed to her, and glanced around the bark for opponents. She looked highly dangerous, competent, and… pretty. Iceland was going to stick with _pretty_ , because this was not the time, nor the place, to get distra-

"Okay, here's the plan," America whispered, and Iceland internally wanted to slam his head against a tree for getting distracted. "While we're still undetected, we'll make our way towards their base using stealth. I'll be moving in through the middle of the field, but Iceland, since you'll be the one getting the flag, you head that way," she gestured vaguely to his right, "and sneak around undetected."

Wait, what?

"Why am I the one who's getting the flag?" he practically snapped, now entirely sure that he should have switched guard duty with Denmark.

"Because they'll be expecting an American Hero charge," she explained. "And I bet you after half an hour, tops, Denmark is gonna ditch guard duty to go fight Sweden. So we have to move fast and we have to make it count. So, we got our plan?"

Iceland felt many things at that moment. Nervousness akin to fear, for what he was being asked to do. Irritation that he'd had very little say in any of it, because classic America had simply doled out the roles to play. A visceral sort of ferocity at the thought of charging into danger and kicking some ass. And a sense of wonder about him that he couldn't quite qualify as he quickly studied America's face.

He thought of Suðurland.

She had barely reached his knees at full height back then, but even as a child she had carried that same look with her into battle. A seriousness about her features warned all people against crossing her, and that expression on the face of a child that could wield a sword and a bow and toss a bear through a tree proved doubly intimidating. America had long since lost toddler pudginess in her cheeks that gave way to a world-weary sort of battle wisdom, but it seemed that, through all her centuries, she remembered the very first lesson Iceland had ever given to her about battle. _When you are fighting, the fight is your whole world. Nothing else matters._

For a brief moment of time, he couldn't tell whether it was Suðurland or America looking at him. He only shook himself out of his thoughts when she tilted her head with curiosity. "You ready, bro?"

He was fairly certain the wording was deliberate. He was much less certain about whether or not he liked it. "Yeah."

She grinned, and offered him a fist bump. "All right," she muttered into her talker. "We're moving out!"

* * *

End Chapter Fourteen

* * *

1) Finnish breakfast sandwiches sound good. It's doubly hilarious when you contrast that against the recurrent _mämmi_ dish in SaTW. Personally, being almost as much a seafood-loving freak as Norway (coastal states represent!), I'd go for salmon soup.

2) Norway's taking baby steps to a better relationship with his brother, finally.

3) Italy driving Japan on the German Autobahn. Just sayin'.

4) I know nothing about either paintball or military tactics so that's a lot of winging it. And it is definitely going to take less than half an hour for Denmark and Sweden to go at each other.

5) More badassery next chapter! I'm still not entirely sure who's going to win this little paintball match. It could go either way.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Friday, January 15, 2016: So... bad week, world. Boo. Even this chapter was late. Bad author, bad. I ended up breaking this chapter in two, due to it growing gigantic, so we'll see the finale to the paintball debacle next week.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Fifteen

* * *

 _-circa 1000CE-_

"Big brother?"

Iceland stopped sharpening his sword to glance down at the child at his knee. Even with Eirikur sitting, she barely stood much taller than his knee. The fact that such a settlement, so small and so young, sported specially-crafted armor over her furs and moccasins only called more attention to the wrongness of what was happening.

Despite Iceland's efforts, the settlers had crossed the native tribes and inspired a righteous fury. He could not even deny that it had been the Vikings' fault, for they had taken their hunting onto a sacred ceremonial ground used by the natives. The Natives had every right to be angry. Iceland would have acquiesced to almost any demand they made, just to keep the peace, but abandoning the village? Unless he founded a new settlement for his little sister, such an act would kill her.

And he wasn't going to let that happen.

"Yes, Axelia?"

"Are you… are you really going to fight them? The five Iroquois, and Alnobak, and Penakuk?" Fear pulsed in her gaze. Each of the five male personifications currently threatening Suðurland boasted confrontational personalities, and their sister tribes Seneca and Oneida, while gentler than their fellows, had never personally parlayed with Iceland and were not inclined to forgive his people of their mistake. And that left him only one option.

"I have no choice. They wish to destroy the village. I can't let that happen to you," he replied, testing the weight of the freshly-sharpened sword before grabbing another and commencing work on it. Inside he felt like a frantic, tense knot of apprehension – and appearing otherwise, for the sake of Suðurland, proved very difficult. But he had to, because if Suðurland saw him pacing, if any of his men saw him fretting, they would lose heart, and hence, the battle. And his sister would die. Elsewhere in the village, the other settlers were preparing fortifications, traps, and even –should the worst come to pass – escape measures. But Iceland would not give up the fight until he himself fell to the ground, cold and lifeless.

Suðurland looked sick to her stomach with fear. Iceland set aside his work and scooped her into his arms, letting her rest on his lap. She wrapped her arms around him weakly, and desperately, and frightfully.

"This new name, Axelia… you said it means 'protector of man'," she whispered. "Well then why do men fight each other? Why do they hurt each other… and kill?" She buried her face in Iceland's chest, as though she could make the imminent disaster vanish by refusing to look it in the face. Her long braided hair trembled as she tried and failed to contain her sobs.

Iceland's heart clenched, because how could he explain to her the false paradise that his older brother called Europe? A land of splendor and squalor, emperors and despots, palaces and poverty, religious piety and every dark sin known to man. How could he explain to her that the ache of a war was something the nations of proud Europa took for granted? How could he explain to her that they wore their scars like jewels and relished the chance at attaining more in the thirst for conquest, heedless of the price?

Heedless of the price.

In that moment, with the small child secure in his arms, something shifted in Iceland's chest; he could not say whether some last strand of innocence had finally snapped or whether or not the resolve of a man had finally risen tall. The perpetual conflicts of jaded Europa would not tarnish the bright, happy gem of Suðurland, and the Natives would not so much as dirty her face with soot. If he had to call upon his demons in Hekla, he would do so, and never regret it.

 _They_ would be the ones to regret picking this fight, Iceland swore, until the day they died.

* * *

 _-the present day-_

As soon as the words left her mouth, America readied her paintball gun and dashed for the cover of the next tree. She quickly pressed herself against it, checked her surroundings with her gun ready, and made for the tree after that, taking less than half a minute to advance.

Iceland watched her lithe form creep closer to "enemy territory" for a moment longer before getting a move on himself. Since he had to advance by going around the edges of the arena, he had more distance to cover, required more speed, and demanded more stealth of himself than he had in a long time. He shook aside thoughts of anything else and moved to America's right in a diagonal charge.

The further he moved, the more distant America's figure became, darting among trees. He bit his lower lip and forced himself to move faster. He wasn't going to get showed up by the other team with America counting on him. So he sprinted a short distance, opting not to pause behind five or six trees he passed. He grimaced as he ran; either his modern boots or his modern stride was not conducive to quiet movement, not like the moccasins America had once made for him. Those dampened sound well, but were long gone. All he had now were the weight-shifting tactics he'd learned long ago, none of which were meant to be used during a high-speed maneuver. But he would try.

He glanced up at the trees in the direction of the opponent base, and try though he might, he could not spot a Finnish sniper in the trees anywhere. Hesitation and confidence warred in him as he practiced the old techniques, slowly and firmly stepping forward, rolling his weight, bringing the second leg from behind him. Again. Faster, faster.

Once he was going at a comfortable clip, he checked the trees again and still saw no one. His wariness began to spill over in paranoia. For all he knew Finland had him in the crosshairs of his rifle and was toying with Iceland, letting him get close to the flag before redecorating his vest. For all he knew Norway or Sweden or Sealand was going to burst out from one of the trees up ahead and drench him in paint. For all he knew America was closing in, without her support… her sidekick.

Iceland didn't know whether or not he minded being her sidekick.

He picked up the pace, and for the next few minutes the forest around him remained calm and free of shouts, shots, whoops, and any other indicators of chaos he could think of. Unfortunately, their arena hadn't been physically demarcated, so he might have gone "out of bounds" at one point or another.

And then indicators of chaos erupted with a vengeance from somewhere off to his left.

He heard the numerous pops of the rifles firing, America's really _strange_ yodeling, Denmark's unmistakable war cries, Sweden's answering roar, and Sealand's terrified scream.

No, Denmark had definitely not waited long _at all_ before making his move. Iceland only hoped that Canada was covering the two boisterous members of his team, because with Sweden and Finland up against Denmark and America, and Sealand present and armed, the odds tilted slightly in Finland's favor… and Norway was unaccounted for. Shit.

Iceland broke into as quiet a sprint as he could manage, eyes darting every which way to scan the oncoming terrain. He didn't want to give Finland an opportunity to spot him, because even if he was thoroughly engaged with either the two current attackers or neutralizing Canada's sniping, he could still raise an alarm. Between the shouts and the shooting, Iceland could barely discern where Finland might have parked himself, and the closer he got to the confrontation, the sooner he would have to make his decision; should he give a wide berth to the ensuing paint battle, or a small one?

He caught a glimpse of the pandemonium through the trees. No fucking wonder Sealand was screeching and not doing much else. Apparently, no one in the Nordic family had thought to impress upon the principality the amount of bad history between Denmark and Sweden. The two had utterly abandoned their rifles to the forest underbrush and were on the ground wrestling. Thankfully, their paintball gear made throwing punches a relatively futile gesture, or they might have actually traumatized the poor kid. As it stood, Sealand found himself too stupefied that the two of them were fighting with any amount of real animosity to really notice Finland's relentless barrage against America and America's desperate countermeasures. While Canada could serve as an effective countersniper, his extreme range, combined with Finland's surface-area-minimizing position, made supporting his sister rather difficult. And America, no matter how "heroic" she declared herself, found her hands more than full of Finnish fury.

Iceland tried valiantly to resist the mental image of scooping America up and making off with her, saving the day and being the hero instead. He tried, yes, but he found it too difficult to banish the daydream completely as he primed his charge. Before anyone caught sight of him, he dashed around the chaos and behind Fin's perch, plucked up the flag Sealand neglected to guard, and made a break for it.

He stole in and out, a momentary silver streak amid the commotion.

His lips twitched upward. It was almost comical, how he had been able to run through the heart of the chaos, equal parts harried and nonchalant. His entrance and exit went unnoticed for the space of three seconds, and then Sealand started squawking, Finland gave a war cry and shifted his attention to Iceland's quickly retreating figure, and Denmark looked up long enough to lose focus, allowing Sweden to shove his face in the dirt.

"Go, Icey, go!" America bellowed. For half a second he thought she would stay behind to fight off Sealand, but with Sealand in rapid pursuit she quickly took up the tail end, returning every hit Sealand landed on his vest with one of her own.

"Norway!" Sealand suddenly hollered, and Iceland stiffened as his concerns were validated. Norway was the one who snuck behind their lines. A clever move, especially if they guessed that Denmark or Iceland would be guarding the flag. He found the energy in him for a second wind and picked up the pace. Sealand redoubled his assault on the back of Iceland's vest. America decided to yell even louder than before, as though that helped in any possible way.

Iceland had no way of knowing how far they got, except that he suddenly heard the _pop_ of a paintball gun from up ahead, followed soon after by the characteristic burst of the paintballs thwacking against trees and the ground. So it was down to this…. He tried hefting the paintball gun, meant to be fired with both hands, and attempted to aim in the general direction of the commotion using his free hand. He heard running, he saw movement-

And there was Norway, a juxtaposition unto himself, running for all he was worth with flag in hand, face stoic as ever – although Iceland thought he could see a gleam of competitive enjoyment in his eyes. When he caught sight of Iceland something passed between them – for all intents and purposes, the paintball war had come down to the two of them. A sibling showdown for the ages.

Norway hefted his rifle in Iceland's general direction even as Iceland sent Norway a few brotherly paintballs himself. Only one managed to hit his brother's vest, but it mainly splattered over paint that had already found its way onto Norway's jacket. Norway, in turn, hosed him with his own paintballs. Iceland grimaced as a few made themselves known on his chest, impacting just enough to really feel it. He wasn't sure how much paint had gotten on the back of his jacket, or how much Canada had gotten on Norway, but he wasn't about to chance losing through a technicality.

"IIIIIIIIIICE!"

Iceland nearly tripped as America let out a deafening roar. Even Norway's eyes widened with shock – or rather, fear, because, as Iceland soon discovered, she had forsaken her duel with Sealand to make sure Iceland could manage the final sprint. With a bit more melodrama than strictly necessary, she discarded her paintball gun, positioned her arms in front of one of the few remaining clean spots on her paintball vest, and charged Norway.

Yeah, if Iceland were faced with America rampaging straight for him like a bull, he might have been slightly scared, too.

Now, Norway did not lack in agility, and the second he saw the superpower bearing down on him, he changed course and changed it wildly. He beat into a hasty retreat, dancing between trees and brush in an attempt to shake her off his trail, countering her momentum with his own erratic dodging.

Unfortunately, America pursued him relentlessly, and Iceland slowed to a jog as America full-body tackled Norway into the dirt.

No. He wasn't jealous. At all.

Paintball splatter on the back of his vest and America's yelling brought him back to the task at hand. "Go, Iceland!" she shouted again, and without waiting to see the tussle between America and Norway, Iceland sprinted back towards Canada's tree.

He would have missed it had the quiet nation not intentionally fired a paintball on his own tree. Panting, cramping, and very much winded, Iceland planted the flag in the dirt and his ass on the ground, sitting for a few moments before flopping. He breathed heavily, barely hearing Canada call the match with airhorn as his heart pounded in his ears. Within minutes, the other players began to emerge from the woods. Finland sported a slightly pained smile, in contrast to Canada's confident grin. Denmark and Sweden trudged up, both covered in more mud than paint and still shooting each other an occasional hard look. Sealand seemed highly disappointed at his team's loss, and kept his eyes on the ground. Finally, Norway and America ambled up, each splattered with mud, paint and leaves. Denmark's took one look at Norway's flushed face before his eyebrows disappeared in his hairline, but America cheered and crowed her team's victory, dragging him, Canada, and Iceland into a messy hug.

No, he wasn't jealous at all.

* * *

The entire match had taken a little over an hour, much to everyone's surprise. Since Sweden had paid for most of the operational hours, it quickly became apparent that Finland wanted a rematch after a lunch break. With that decided, the nations broke to clean the paint off their skin and hair, change their equipment, and grab a bite to eat.

Iceland wondered if they were going to keep the same teams as before. Part of him thought it would only be fair that way, but another part of him thought that the others would probably want to shake things up. Hm. Well, it might be interesting to have Norway on his team. If nothing else, they could band together and Iceland could demonstrate his skills a bit more. Denmark and Sweden were both good people to have on your side as opposed to someone else's, but then again Finland, Canada, and America also fit that bill. And Sealand… he didn't want to think of Sealand as a liability, and Iceland found that he did honestly want to give the micronation a chance to shine. He just didn't really know how.

All of the tension present at breakfast – how long ago that seemed – had apparently evaporated after the game as the eight nations sat around eating a modest lunch provided at the arena. The three Scandinavians sat in a close huddle, with Norway and Sweden mulling over their sandwiches while Denmark snickered loudly at his own jokes. Finland and Canada were sitting together talking about their different war experiences, which left Iceland with Sealand and America. Both of them looked too fatigued to do much chatting, and their lunch was relatively silent.

Until Sealand, in a very small voice, muttered, "Can I be on your team this time?"

"Huh? Why do you wanna be on our team? Although… if we switch you for Denmark, it'll be old geezers versus us young'uns," America smirked.

"They wouldn't let me do anything except guard the flag," Sealand pouted. "They think I can't do anything! I was built in World War Two as a military fort. I'm not… I'm not… weak!" He huffed.

America and Iceland exchanged a glance over his head. No use in telling him that, in terms of nations, yes he was rather weak. However, he did raise some valid points. So that left the two nations to engage in a rather impressive eyebrow conversation for the next few minutes or so, debating what to do.

"Uh, guys?"

Canada was staring at them with no small amount of confusion on his face, and his question caused everyone else to look over.

"What's up, broski?" America chirped.

"Is… something wrong?" Canada asked.

"We're discussing strategy!"

"With Sealand?"

"He wants to be on our team!" America said brightly.

Finland and Denmark regarded the micronation with some confusion, and Sweden and Norway, while still blank-faced as ever, leveled a questioning stare at the sea fort sandwiched between Iceland and America. "Sealand, why do you want to switch?" Finland asked, a small amount of worry in his voice.

"Because I want to do more than guard the flag," Sealand pouted again. His other teammates seemed to recoil at the unspoken accusation, but America ignored it and pointed an accusatory finger at Denmark. "Plus. You! You and I are two thirds of the Awesome Threesome," she announced, and while Canada and Finland turned a funny shade and sputtered, Denmark just snorted with laughter at her phrasing. "So it's really no wonder these guys lost. I believe we should take this competition to new heights," America grinned ominously. "Finland and Canada are already pitting their sniper skills against each other and now I think it's time to establish that of the three most awesome nations on earth I am the top dog."

Denmark returned her smirk, baring his teeth and cocking his head. "You're gonna eat your words, America, when I win. You've put the Viking Fury Trio back together again!"

"It's gonna take more than your oversized pair of scissors to beat the hero!"

"Bring it!"

"You're on!"

Iceland sighed as he once again found himself dragged away from something relaxing – that being his half-uneaten lunch – and back into the fray, this time with Sealand commiserating instead of Denmark. However, it looked like Denmark was going to harry his team just as much as America, and Canada and Finland were already giving each other stinkeyes as they retreated to their sides of the woods.

He had a sinking feeling the afternoon was going to be more chaotic than the morning.

* * *

End Chapter Fifteen

* * *

A/N: So now you see why I split the chapter up. It should be updated very late next Friday if not Saturday (I'll be returning from skiing.)

1) The settlement of Suðurland is located approximately around the very short coastline that belongs to modern-day New Hampshire. According to my (limited) research and the NPR article "The Map of Native American Tribes You've Never Seen Before", the five Iroquois nations, the Alnobak/Abenaki, and the Penakuk are the most prevalent in that region. I highly suggest looking the article up online, since it includes a link to a free PDF. And nothing is better than a free PDF, especially when it comes to research.

2) My headcanon is that Iceland can perform certain types of magic thanks to his connection to Norway, but uses this ability very rarely. As the volcano Hekla is said to be the gateway to Hell, my understanding would be some affinity for ice, fire, and summoning of dark spirits. And I believe Puffin to be one of them.

3) Denmark and Sweden are not adults when it comes to each other.

4) One Tumblr headcanon is that Sealand is actually a lot more proficient at magic than England is. He's also mostly managed on his own ever since independence, assembled micronations, and manages to play nice with Ladonia, who doesn't really like him. Sealand gets spotlight!

5) Jealous Iceland is best Iceland.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Sunday, January 31, 2016: Holy fuckballs this was late. First it was skiing (which was awesome), then the blizzard that consumed the eastern U.S. (which was even more awesome, since I live in the D.C. metro area and got the worst of it), and then the semester started.

Since this is my last semester of graduate school, things are going from 0 to 60 both in terms of finishing my projects and thesis as well as laying the groundwork for the job search afterwards. I may start updating this story every other week instead of every week until May if things get too intense, but I have no plans of abandoning this story. Just a little patience is all I ask.

Lastly, warning: somewhat downer ending to chapter, do not read if already sad/want to stay in a good mood.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Sixteen

* * *

They huddled in some brush, the flag between their bodies. Sealand seemed excited that Sweden had allowed him out of "parental supervision" for a while, but Iceland found himself filling with trepidation rather quickly. He spoke out first. "So, we have our team and that's great and all, but the only thing worse than putting Dan and Sve on opposite teams is putting them on the same one. My older brother and those two were pretty wild in those days, and Fin isn't exactly a slouch either."

"It's experience versus youth!" America declared, eyes bright as she pounded her fist into her open palm. "We'll show them the energy of the younger generations! They won't stand a chance against us," she cackled.

"I'm inclined to agree with Iceland. We need a stronger strategy than last time," Canada said as he glanced between the three of them. "Finland and I are still going to be using sniper tactics, but I don't know how the other three will divide themselves. Denmark and Sweden are pretty big, and Norway is tricky to catch."

"Not to mention they have plenty of experience fighting together from the Viking era," Iceland said. Irritation belied his apprehension. "I'm just glad I'm Norway's brother, because I would _not_ have wanted to be on the receiving end of Dan's axe."

Sealand looked vaguely ill at that proclamation, and Iceland remembered that apparently Sweden would rather bury the past than introduce Sealand to the fact that Europe was not always the chipper-happy paradise he thought it was. A paintball game sure was a strange way to begin the slow process of chipping away at Sealand's preconceived notions. But the micronation's relationship with his family was not the immediate, pressing concern, even if it did loom on the horizon. "If I know them – and I do – then they will probably leave Finland in charge of guarding the flag and charge us. Given that Dan plays ringleader, they'll probably act fast."

America started, and immediately scanned their surroundings, paintball gun at the ready. Canada followed suit before lowering his voice to a sniper's hiss. "Maybe it would be better if one of you carried the flag? They wouldn't suspect that."

"There's no puppy-guarding," Sealand reminded him. "A ten-meter radius around the flag at all times is required, those were the rules we set down."

"Well then," Canada muttered, grabbing the flag, "I'll make sure it's at least ten feet above me. I'll leave it to you whether or not you rush." And with that, he scanned his immediate selection of trees, picked one that suited his taste, and practically scampered up.

America gestured in a direction away from Canada's perch, and they started walking; first towards the land marker, and then towards the boundary of their arena, which the staff had marked with plastic ties during their lunch break. At first they traveled in silence, but then Sealand spoke up. "If we meet up with them, it's three on four. How are we going to get their flag? Finland will see us from a kilometer away!"

"I'm the hero, I can take 'em!" America replied cheerily, hands behind her head. Iceland stared at her with a considerable amount of worry. He had never actually allowed her near his Viking-era brothers. Denmark was loud and annoying, but America had never seen just how vicious he could be. And Sweden and Norway, both masters of perpetual stoic expressions, were even more terrifying when they were furious, due to how rare such things were.

Not that he was concerned about such things happening during a simple paintball game, but still.

Suddenly America pinned Sealand with a pointed finger. "It's up to you, Sea. If Canada has his flag in a tree then Finland will probably have his in a tree too, right?" She glanced at Iceland, and he nodded his confirmation. "You're the one who can climb the most easily without being spotted, so this time Ice and I will cover ya."

Sealand looked positively thrilled at playing such a pivotal role in America's tactics, but Iceland was anything but. "You do realize what serving as cover against the Scandinavians entails, right? They're not going to go easy on us."

"Don't need 'em to."

Iceland felt his eyes rolling. "So, your plan is to have Sealand sneak up and steal the flag, me distract Fin from Sea, and you serve as tank?"

"Yup!"

"Then we'd better hurry up and find Fin's tree before the others find Canada's."

With that, America had them hustling as fast as they could across the forest. The three of them scouted the trees with constant vigilance, looking for any hint of a Finn or his flag. Iceland felt his gaze darting erratically across the treetops, with the newly budding leaves causing a dizzying and disorienting pattern that left him feeling doubtful of his ability. Despite that, he felt like he had a better chance of spotting Finland than America, as the superpower had developed a habit of donning glasses for certain things now. But despite even that, he figured that Finland would find them all before even one of them spotted him.

 _PLAT_

The thick, solid sound of paint exploding on a jacket pierced the relative silence of the forest. America stopped in her tracks, wide-eyed, and stared down. Right in the middle of her chest, an angry red explosion of paint had soiled her vest. Just as slowly, she looked up again, squinting to spot the responsible party.

Oh great.

Iceland grabbed her hand, then Sealand's hand, then ran as best as he could while trying to drag the two of them, all while a sudden ferocious barrage of paintballs tore at them. It seemed to jolt the two to their senses, because Sealand was moving faster than before and America broke into a sprint. "Come on!" she shouted, charging straight at his tree. Several more paintballs hit her vest and her helmet, and some of the paint dripped onto the old sweatshirt she had sacrificed for Round 2. Iceland felt his eyes rolling with a vengeance. He had been trying to move a little more erratically, a little bit more roundabout, to avoid that precise result. But America wouldn't be stopped now, so he let go of Sealand's hand. "Remember what you have to do. Climb up the back of the tree!"

"Right!" the micronation panted. As he and Iceland split up, the island nation started running closer to America. He kept his eyes pinned to the tree branches and finally found what he was looking for; the flag swayed lazily on the stray breezes, guarded by a Finn on a branch a story down.

"There it is!" he shouted, pointing, more for America's benefit than Sealand's. From the very quick glance he snuck, Sealand had already seen his target, and the tantalizing closeness of his goal had given the boy a second wind. Despite the current fire she was taking, America seemed to gain her own second wind. For half a second she looked like she was ready to rip the tree up by its roots, but then she remembered the micronation navigating the branches. "Go, Iceland!" she ordered, pointing her own rifle up at Finland's branch and giving the sniper hell.

Iceland thought that if he could climb up the tree directly under Finland, he might not get hit that much. Iceland thought that if he kept a solid branch between him and Finland at all times, he might stay dry. Iceland thought wrong. Now that his targets had come to him, Finland had no need of a sniper's crouch or a long-range rifle. He fired off one last shot – a warning shot, Iceland belatedly realized – before returning to a more conventional crouch and firing the ever-loving shit out of his rifle. He even took some paintballs out of their holders to drop like fat, gooey grenades, right above Iceland's head, and even though Iceland wasn't an appearance-obsessed prettyboy, _come on_.

His worries about paint in his hair and America's craziness on the ground and whether or not Sealand's attempt at getting the flag would be successful suddenly paled in comparison to crackling groan of wood and the terrified scream of "MAPLEEEEE!" that echoed across the forest.

"CANADAAAA!"

Iceland heaved a very irritated sigh as America abandoned her chosen mission as tank in order to actually tank over to Canada. While many of the trees around them were old and thick enough that their tap roots could ensure survival against even America's super strength, some of them were not, and Iceland soon heard the crashing of many more trees growing more distant as America barged her way through the forest, intent on playing hero for her brother.

He wasn't annoyed or jealous or anything like that. He just had a lot more paint to deal with now.

"Haha! We have your flag now, Finland- aaah!"

Iceland pressed his forehead into the bark and tried to prevent himself from getting a headache. Sealand had gotten the flag, that much was true, but then for some wholly unknown reason he had decided to brag about it immediately. And now Sealand and the flag were pinned, and taking heavy fire, and there was no way Sealand was going to be able to sneak down without getting drowned in paint, and now Iceland had to sacrifice himself. To Finland. Fun.

Even so, he couldn't deny that he felt a little excited about taking on the Winter Warrior. He began climbing the branches with renewed vigor, balancing speed and stealth on the width of a hair. Finland noticed him about four meters away, and Iceland smirked at the way Finland's cheerful smile morphed into a frown of concentration as he had to split his focus between his two assailants.

Then Sealand did something both very smart and very stupid. He dropped the flag, watching as it tumbled to the ground. He braced himself, grit his teeth, and let go of the branch he was holding.

"Don't-!"

"Sealand!"

"AAAAAH!"

Iceland felt himself shuffling down the branches, cringing as he anticipated both a mute _thump_ and sickening _crunch_ from Sealand's landing. Shit, as far as he knew Sealand's fort had never been critically damaged, not had the brat himself actually done anything so daring or stupid in the past, and all Iceland could think about as the blood rushed in his ears was the broken bones he was sure to have on impact. The island nation was dimly aware of Finland also mentally putting the game in the extreme backseat of his mind – the nimble sniper was already dancing down the tree faster than Iceland could climb down.

He was aware of a vague impact noise, but nothing else, not even the telltale explosion of crying Iceland had grown accustomed to expecting. However, when he reached the bottom, he noticed that Sealand was sitting on the ground, helmet abandoned by his side, making no move to grab the flag, and Finland was fussing over him, helmet also cast away. Sealand's face sported several shallow but bloody cuts, his clothes – where the vest couldn't protect them, at least – were dirty and seemed to have been torn exclusively in one direction, and Sealand was nursing one of his feet at an odd angle. Iceland watched mutely for a moment before noticing some leaves and branches tumble to the ground, almost as an afterthought.

"Holy shit!"

The three nations looked up to see the late arrival of the rest of their teammates. Sweden had the twins slung over each of his shoulders in a clear gesture of victory; though as both were literally covered from head to toe in three shades of paint, it was rather obvious that the Viking Trio had handily whipped their asses. In addition, Canada had scattered twigs and needles in his hair, and Denmark's smirk – and axe, holy _fuck_ , no wonder, that explained _so much_ – told Iceland everything he needed to know. Norway held the stolen flag loosely, but whatever vaguely-triumphant-stoic expression he might have marched in with originally was replaced by his widened eyes at the sight in front of them.

Sweden unceremoniously shrugged the twins off his shoulders and hurried over to Finland. "What happened?" he asked Sealand.

Sealand, for his part, did not seem near tears despite his pain. "Well I-I got the flag, but since Finland saw m-me I deci- decided to.. to drop the flag and follow it down. I th-thought I was going to land on the branch r-right below me but I sli-ipped… And I hit a lot of branches on the way down…"

"I don't think you broke any bones," Finland breathed with relief. "But I think you're ankle's sprained just from looking at it."

Sweden was silent for a few moments, and all of them, even Finland, were worried about the usually gentle giant going on his own intimidating equivalent of a parental rant. Instead, he just muttered, " I think we're done for the day," before picking Sealand up with infinite care and carrying him out of the woods. The rest of the nations watched for a long, painfully silent moment before slowly picking themselves up, gathering their things, and following them back to the arena.

In typical fashion, Denmark broke the silence. "Fuck us all. England's going to kill us."

* * *

End Chapter Sixteen

* * *

1: Great observation skills, Denmark.

2: Most of the Hetalia fics I read that include SuFin + Sealand have a very father+mother+child dynamic about them, which I don't see for multiple reasons. I honestly think of Sweden and Sealand having a relationship somewhere between parent and much-older brother, sort of like England and America did before independence. Not that I think Finland doesn't care about Sealand, or doesn't have parental tendencies, but I just don't picture him as being as motherly as he's usually portrayed.

3: Sitting Sealand down for a Scandinavian history lesson will only lead to disaster.

4: I try using the metric system for the benefit of non-U.S. readers. Even though U.S. readers form the majority of the viewers, people from the U.S. have vague estimates of metric measurements whereas I have no idea if the reverse is true. I know that the rest of the world (save Myanmar and Liberia, who also use the Imperial measurement system) think Imperial units make no sense, but when you live with them it's natural.

5: Place your bets on who dies painfully courtesy of England.

This chapter was a bear to write. A painfully short bear. At least it's over.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016: I DISAPPEARED I'M SORRY. The semester had me trapped in its macabre grip, and honestly, it still hasn't let me go, but I've been working on this for a while and since it's still Star Wars Day for another hour I wanted to get this out.

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Seventeen

* * *

The car ride back, dinner, cleanup, and packing were all subdued affairs. Sweden didn't let Sealand put so much as a kilogram of weight on his injured foot, opting instead to keep his ankle bound in icepacks most of the evening. He carried the micronation to bed early after dinner and a full dose of anti-inflammatory painkillers, with heated wrappings on his injured foot replacing the bulky icepacks.

Denmark spent the evening reacquainting himself with one of his favorite pastimes, "praying frantically to every deity I remember in the hopes that another nation won't kill me". For the most part, everyone else tidied up their living spaces and packed their suitcases in relative silence. The only exception was, surprisingly, Norway, who had taken to baking what looked suspiciously like scones.

Norway was a smart nation.

America had kept shooting Iceland looks throughout the evening, likely in regards to when he wanted to "talk". He was beginning to regret asking about it when he had no real idea of what to say, or, even better, when they could get a moment of privacy. He didn't want his brothers barging in asking stupid annoying questions, and the last thing a World Conference meeting needed was more gossip. He spent most of the evening rolling around on his bed, trying to think of a good time to get America alone to talk.

"Yo, Ice!"

And then she barged into his room. He sat up and shot her a small glare. "Thank you so much for knocking."

"You're welcome!" she grinned. With an equal amount of consideration as before, she strode over to the bed and seated herself at the foot. Iceland pulled up his knees, feeling slightly weird about the two of them sitting around in his room. "Soooooo I had a super awesome idea. What if you come visit my place after the World Conference? We can visit the Big Apple and warm up in Florida and check out the sequoias and it'll be so much fun!" By the end she was beaming with pride about her country's diverse vistas.

"That… could work," Iceland appraised, raising an eyebrow. "But I'd need to stop at my place on the way. I didn't pack enough clothes for a trip like that."

"That's cool, I haven't seen your place in a while, the airport doesn't really count. Ooh, maybe we could visit each other back to back! That would be awesome! I haven't seen a lot of your tourist traps ever. Do you guys really call your geysers 'geysers' too? And what other stuff is off of the Golden Circle? Do you really go parachuting into volcanoes? Is that famous hot springs open? Wait, don't you guys have like a penis museum or something, that's kind of weird."

Iceland didn't even bother to respond to half of her prattling. "I thought we were going to your place, not mine."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, we are, heheh," America muttered, scratching the back of her head. "Guess I got a little carried away there."

"No shit. We can still do that, if you want." Iceland was not at all sure about hosting a nation like America on such short notice, but he'd heard enough of England berating her at meetings for "dropping in unexpectedly" to realize that her close friends and allies had to host her far more often than he did. If they could pull it off, so could he.

"Really? Aw, yes! Sweet!" America bounced on the bed, and Iceland braced himself for more chattering. "You have to show me all of your favorite restaurants and bars and movies and stuff!"

Now that brought Iceland up short. Dating culture in the Nordic countries was largely nothing like dating in the United States or Canada or many other places he could name. Where Americans used movies and dinners and other activities to get to know each other before becoming more intimate, it seemed like people from the Scandinavian countries, and Iceland, got the order reversed most of the time. He had human friends and acquaintances, and the country was small enough that if Iceland took America out to a restaurant to eat in the middle of a big city like Reykjavik, someone would see them, and many conclusions would be drawn, and none of them would be correct. Because… even though they weren't dating… it would look like they were super serious. He felt himself flushing up to his ears. America didn't notice, because she was once again wondering about the famous penis museum.

He reddened, bristled, and braced himself for a most awkward evening.

"And I heard that you recently got an, um, er, a _human specimen_ a few years back. Is there a funny story that goes with that?"

A most awkward evening, indeed...

* * *

"I cannot believe you!"

Iceland reddened, bristled, and braced himself for a thorough tongue-lashing courtesy of England.

Sweden had dealt with the actual injury very well, everyone had to admit. Thanks to the quick application of ice and overnight treatment with heat, Sealand had avoided inflammation and bruising and any residual soreness was only evident in a slight limp. In addition, the micronation had barely set a foot on the floor, because Sweden carried him from the house to the car, and through the airport, and onto the plane. None of the airport security seemed inclined to protest, given his perpetual glare.

However, Sweden had also made a phone call to England explaining what happened, so England had a full barrage worked up by the time all the nations convened at the World Conference two days after Sealand had gotten hurt. And to make matters worse, all eight of them had a hand to play in the injury, which meant that England was yelling at all of them and none of them simultaneously. He refrained from glaring at Sweden, mainly because no one could out-glare him, and he refrained from glaring at Norway much, because Norway was mature and responsible and also came bearing apology scones. Finland was hard to get mad at, and Canada was generally considered the golden child between the two twins, so England settled on harping at Denmark and America about how paintball was a terrible idea, Sealand was only twelve, they should have been looking out for him better, I cannot believe you twats.

Iceland was long past feeling guilty and well on the way to smacking England in the face with a cod. It wouldn't have been the first time. Even Sealand seemed upset by England's never-ending lecture, and it was starting to show. England, however, was beyond noticing, and by the time he was nearly purple with indignation Canada and France had to step in and redirect the remnants of his anger. By that time Sealand was close to breaking down, and so just as Switzerland called the meeting to order (thankfully without a gunshot this time), Sweden had to take five minutes out with the micronation.

With the morning's excitement now passed, it was looking to be another boring meeting. Switzerland insisted on seating everyone by continent and then alphabetically, and that in and of itself caused great pain when the Latin American nations went into uproar about whether or not the American landmass was one continent or two. Regardless, America was nowhere near Iceland, and neither was anyone else in the Nordics, and they could only exchange so many texts before Switzerland caught on and blew up. Iceland found his attention wandering between Switzerland's proceedings and watching other nations zone out, in particular America balancing about five different things. Even when she wasn't sending him the odd text or two, her phone was out, silent, but perpetually lighting up with messages. She took some notes on what Switzerland was saying but left most of transcribing to the small recorder she brought, and seemed to be more immersed in a technical report. A lot of people seemed to forget the work culture North Americans had... Iceland couldn't honestly say he wasn't guilty of the same thing, but he had a bit more perspective than most.

* * *

 _-circa 1000CE-_

The battle had not been kind to either side. The Natives might have worn animal hides while the small band of Vikings wore metal armor, but in the end men from both sides glistened with the same shades of red blood. The nearby belligerent tribes, namely the five Iroquois and Alnobak, sent warrior band after warrior band to fight the settlers. The Vikings had fortified their settlement to the best of their abilities, taken positions inside the walls that let them shoot many attackers down before running out of arrows, and after that met the hostile spears with their own blades.

Little Axelia, standing no taller than Iceland's mid-thigh, fired bolts with a fierce expression on her face that spoke to how desperately she was fighting to hold her tears back and the contents of her stomach down. It was only when they started hammering at the blockaded gate – her very _bones_ – and her fragile visage of bravery shattered in fear and pain as the Tribes themselves stepped out from the forest that Iceland felt his heart truly clench.

Norge had the gift, more than any of them. But Iceland had some of it. Just enough to make a difference. He roared to his settlers for one last, final, desperate defense, crouched, and began to chant. His own people had their own legends of the world's fiery bowels and the creatures that lurked within. He had met some of them before, tamed fewer. But they would come to his aid now.

The air shivered with heat as an amorphous concentration of malice materialized, hissing with such venom that even the Tribes themselves paused as they watched Iceland, barely a man, call the beast to his aid. As the demon lunged, one of the tribes – _Oneida_ , Iceland recalled – answered with one of the spirits of the natives. But the solitary demon was stronger than the single spirit, and so the Native summoned again and more spirits poured from the forest, bolstering the native warriors, fending off the hell-beast, lunging at the little personification whose walls were folding and whose face was peeling open, bloody and raw…

She hunched and screamed in as much fear as pain, clutching her hands to her face in an effort to keep the skin from peeling back, and as she turned to keep the spirits off her for just a few moments, a deafening screech rang through the air. It reverberated far louder than any natural sound, and in the space of a heartbeat the battlefield fell silent, every man knowing instinctively that only a powerful guardian could be responsible for that call.

For a moment, the air around Axelia seemed to waver, then feathers materialized, white and brown. Finally, the shape of an eagle far larger than any natural animal coalesced around her, the guardian wrapping gigantic wings taller than Alnobak in a protective embrace. In the silent, the eagle gave another defiant cry, before flapping its great wings and launching into the sky.

The Tribes watched as one of their prominent spirits proclaimed itself guardian for the upstart sibling of foreign settlers with resentment and unfeeling confusion. Iceland cautiously scooped his sister in his arms and found that her injuries, while not entirely vanished, had partially healed. His own demon had been burned away by the light and the aura of the great eagle spirit.

When he turned to look out over the battlements, he saw the Tribes clearing their dead and calling back their warriors, retreating into the darkness of the forest with long, backwards glances.

He would have to parlay with them, soon, to discuss this matter. But now, with his injured ward sleeping fitfully in his arms, he had other matters to attend to.

* * *

 _-the present day-_

A pencil poking his left cheek brought him back to the present with a jolt.

Hungary was silently giggling and had a knowing smile on her face, and Iceland felt his stomach drop as he wondered if he'd been staring at America for who knows how long. He whipped out his cell phone quickly and noticed general movement around him signaling that it was time to break for the day. With one more quick glance at Hungary (she'd become distracted by Northern Italy, thankfully), Iceland slipped out of his row of seats and tried to make a break for the exit.

Unfortunately, the ending of the first day of the meeting played out much the same as the last time. The nations began to wander off back to the hotel in their usual groups, which meant that England, Sealand (Sweden had decided that provoking England's ire further and not letting the micronation join England for dinner was not a wise idea), and France made their way to America and Canada while the Nordics gathered together, and before Iceland could so much as make eye contact with America, Denmark took the lead and steered the conversation in the direction of dinner. "I'm starving, bros! Let's go somewhere with fast service. Probably not seafood, though. I don't think it will be as good as fresh caught." Ignoring, or more likely missing, Switzerland's glare, the Dane continued. "Let's get some good old fashioned land grub!"

* * *

By the time the Nordic five returned to their hotel rooms, Denmark had managed to get banned from the establishment they had chosen for life. It was a small mercy he no longer carried his axe absolutely everywhere he went, otherwise the cost in damages might have tripled. Iceland personally would not eat there again out of eternal shame.

By the time Iceland managed to crawl back to his room, he wanted nothing more than to sleep through the next day of work. He did not envy Norway, who had lost the lottery in terms of sharing a room with Denmark; or Sweden and Sealand, who had the next room down from them. Finland made it clear in no uncertain terms that he would get to use the shower first, and Iceland, who had fortunately not gotten drenched in beer during Denmark's, and later Prussia's, obscene attempt at turning the restaurant into a bar, knew better than to fight that battle and reclined on his bed with a book.

For all of five seconds, because almost as soon as Finland started his shower, there was a knock on the door. Iceland barely muffled an annoyed groan as he shoved himself up, ambled to the door, and opened it.

He found Sealand staring down at him with some Swiss bills and an eager expression on his face. "Iceland, can you take me down to the lobby so I can get some change for this? America said there's an arcade here!" the micronation chirped. Iceland felt his energy levels plummet into the negative region. He was trying, _really trying_ , to be more appreciative of Sealand, but right now he just couldn't. "Sure," he heard himself replying flatly. "Let me just grab my room card."

He grabbed his cell phone, too, and his book, because if Sealand ended up playing games when he should have gone straight back to Sweden after England dropped him off, then he wanted to not be bored while Sealand amused himself with cheap games. Sealand was practically brimming with excitement as they walked down the hall, and the elevator ride down to the first floor took far too long with Sealand's incessant bouncing, even though the Nordics had rooms on the fourth floor as opposed to the tenth.

(Iceland was convinced Switzerland had done that just to get under Austria's skin.)

When they got down to the lobby, Sealand made quite a scene with the clerk on duty, which culminated with two other clerks trying to find the manager who spoke English, and keeping Sealand occupied with candies and trinkets. Even once the manager had been found, it took quite a while for the micronation to communicate what kind of change he needed to play the arcade games, and which games actually worked, and the hours the arcade was open for – thankfully, it had already closed for the evening, and Iceland didn't even bother to hide his relief. But Sealand still decided that he needed to use the restroom in the lobby as opposed to the one in his room, and while Sealand skipped into the bathroom, Iceland couldn't help but think that this was even more stupid, because he couldn't even read a page in his book during the time it took Sealand to use the restroom, and Finland was probably out of the shower wondering where the hell he went.

He made his way over to a sofa against the wall and took a seat, staring into space while he waited for Sealand to return.

"Boo."

"Shit!" Iceland yelped, jumping out of the seat and causing a few turns of head in his direction. He whipped his head around looking for the noise source before he saw America peeking out from behind the large fern next to the sofa. "Don't do that!" Iceland hissed. "What are you doing, anyway? Don't do it!"

America looked entirely too pleased with herself. "Jumpy? Or just tired?" she teased.

Iceland felt his mood sour despite the trepidation he felt at being alone with America. "Well, considering that we were enjoying a nice dinner when Prussia barged in and challenged Denmark to a drinking contest, which ended with Finland covered in beer, three destroyed tables, and a lifelong ban from entering that restaurant again, I'd say I'm pretty tired."

That only earned a snicker and Iceland felt himself glaring in fatigue. "Yeah, We saw you guys walking back into the hotel. Not often someone has a more crazy night than Iggy and Franceypants together," she said, and the slight tone of awe in her voice warned Iceland off asking what had happened during _her_ dinner.

"So how tired are you exactly?" America pressed, and she leaned against the wall nonchalantly, arms folded across her chest. Iceland noted that she herself seemed fatigued, if the way her eyes sometimes drooped closed were anything to go by.

"If tomorrow's meeting could die that would be awesome," Iceland responded dryly, earning another snicker from America. However, the grin on her face quickly melted into something more neutral as she appraised him, and Iceland felt something lodge in his throat.

"Well, if you're not too tired, can we talk now? 'Cause I mean, I saw Norway dragging Denmark off, Finland's probably done with everybody and everything for the evening, and Sealand's headed back to Sweden," she said, and nodded her head to someone over Iceland's shoulder. Sure enough, the micronation was walking back to the elevator. Without Iceland. Almost like-

"…You set this up?"

"Whoa, I did _not_ set up Prussia going to that restaurant and making a mess of things!" America said, waving her hands defensively. "Like I said, we saw you guys coming back into the hotel, and since Canada was already dealing with the mashed potatoes England shoved up France's nose" – Iceland cringed at that – "I decided to walk Sealand back up to his room. And maybe give him some arcade money. And maybe point out that he would need to change it to quarters. And that maybe Sweden wouldn't exactly approve of him playing lots of arcade games, before heading off."

Okay, now Iceland was kind of lost. "What?"

"So _maybe_ it was like, unwitting bribery. At, like, the _most_."

"And that makes it better?"

"…Doesn't it?"

Iceland pinched the bridge of his nose, pleading with the growing headache to stay back for however long this took. "I need water," he muttered, but sighed and spoke up. "But yeah, we can talk now." He wasn't sure whether he was more nervous than relieved that they would finally be able to catch a moment of privacy, but America gave him a small encouraging grin as she headed over to the water fountain, gesturing for him to follow.

"Awesome. Because honestly, dude, it's been on my mind a lot since you brought it up, and the longer I think about it, the more I don't know what to say."

* * *

End Chapter Seventeen

* * *

1: FINALLY. They're going to have their frikkin TALK.

2: I checked to make sure that I got the blurb about dating culture right, and apparently that is actually a thing. Coming from the States I find a reversal odd, but then I'm also a huge prude, so. Also, raise your hand if you can tell that I love snickering about the penis museum. Visiting it is on my bucket list.

3: Ask someone from Latin American and they'll probably tell you that North and South America are just America, whereas someone from outside Latin America is likely to maintain that they are two continents. I can see it going both ways. Check YouTube channel CGP Grey's video "What Are Continents?" for some more interesting perspectives, like considering India its own continent and the fact that under all that ice, Antarctica is actually an archipelago and not a single land mass.

4: In a lot of Native American mythology, eagles are powerful symbols. They can represent power, wisdom, and courage (whole Triforce represent!), serve as the messenger to the Great Spirit in the sky, and, in Abenaki tradition, serve as the Sun-Bringer. There are thousands of stories across the continent but the story in Abenaki culture is significant because Abenaki is one of the Tribes who was unwilling to accept Suðurland.

5: I have an appreciation for FrUK, but writing them as frenemies is just _too much fun._ I'll leave you to speculate on why and how England shoved mashed potatoes up France's nose.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Pairings: Iceland/fem!America, possibly some others.

Sunday, October 9, 2016: Well I did not mean to disappear but life happened. But I figured I should update this while it's still Lief Erikson Day! Enjoy!

* * *

One Thousand Years More: Chapter Eighteen

* * *

They found themselves on a patio along the side of the hotel, but Iceland couldn't remember the short walk there. He felt the slight prickling of the night's chill and knew that by the end of this talk he would be thoroughly cold. America, despite wearing her jacket and keeping her arms folded to her chest for warmth, seemed on the verge of shivering already. It must have been her generally warmer climate. Both of them stood for a long moment, fidgeting, neither quite sure how to begin this conversation.

Finally, America spoke up. "So…. Yeah. I was Suðurland, a long time ago."

"I know that now," Iceland said, trying to keep confusion-induced exasperation from his voice. "When you knew what I was talking about. It's just…"

"Why don't you want them to know?" America asked, gesturing vaguely at the hotel. _Why don't you want the Nordics, your brother-cousin-nations, your family, to know?_ "At the cabin I played along because it seemed like you didn't want to tell them. I just want to know why."

Iceland tried to gather his thoughts into more diplomatic words than the ones he was thinking, but, failing that, heaved a sigh, shoved his hands in his pockets, and chose honesty. "Because I don't know how they're going to react. I talked with Norway already about how he was treating me like a child," he pointed out, and America nodded. "And he's trying not to treat me like a kid, but I still feel like they mostly are. Sort of. You know? Damn it."

He growled lightly and ran a hand through his hair, unable to explain the lingering frustrations he felt. "I just… I don't know. Back then, I kept you a secret from them because I wanted a sibling that I didn't have to share. Plus, they were Vikings back then, they wouldn't have gone easy on me if they'd ever found out, and even if they accepted you as a sibling, their way of raising me and Greenland and Vinland – Canada – was 'tough love'. So I didn't say anything. Even after… even after I was forced to leave, and I thought you were gone… I never told them, because I thought they would get mad, or resent me for it. And even now that I know you were her, I just… feel like it would set them back again."

His confession sounded as miserable as he felt, because he felt overwhelmingly stupid for making such a hypothesis in the first place. Throughout his rambling America was uncharacteristically silent, and although he wasn't facing her, he sensed her shifting her weight behind him. He couldn't bear to turn and look her in the eyes, and he burned with shame primarily because he had no idea why that was such an impossible task.

She was silent so long that he finally forced himself to turn around, and his indignant demand for her to say something, anything, died in his throat because of the troubled look on her face. When she caught him staring, she turned a brilliant shade of red and averted her eyes. Her own confession came haltingly, so different from the brash confidence Iceland was used to.

"After… after you had to leave," she began, voice oddly thick, "I really missed you. I didn't know when I would see you again... if I would see you again. Abenaki was... you know. But in the end, the Tribes were willing to let me stay. Abenaki was convinced by the Eagle that I was a Tribe with a great destiny, and he ended up protecting me the most. He taught me how to live in the Natives' ways, after you were gone," she chuckled weakly at the irony. "And he passed me around the Tribes on occasion. Mostly east of the Appalachians, but I felt at home on the Plains and the Rockies too, and that belonging, that feeling of rightness that stretched to the ends of the earth, that was what convinced the rest that I was destined to unite the Tribes."

She fell silent again at that, folding her arms over her chest and hunching slightly, bangs falling into her face and obscuring her vision. Iceland glanced away, guilty on instinct. It was Europeans that shaped the American nations more, in the end, than the Natives. The Tribes that once ruled the entirety of the continents had been brought to heel by European guns, European religion, European disease, European cruelty. So many Tribes had died out, their personifications vanished in the wind, and those living on reservations had a whole other host of complications and struggles to deal with now. America, the paragon that the Tribes thought would unite them against the foreigners who brought malice to their lands, had instead been what the Tribes must have perceived as corrupted, possessed, and their land and history was lost forever.

Iceland felt guilty, not because he had shaped this tragedy with his own hands, but because he was linked by history to the main perpetrators. But he could not let the inexorable reality weigh him down constantly. What mattered to him, more than anything, was that the link – the link between the first Europeans and the Tribes, between him and the sister he had thought lost forever – had survived, against all odds.

America found her voice, and continued.

"So… I traveled across most of the continent. West to the Pacific, south as far as Mexico. North as far as Alaska. Sometimes I met Canada," she admitted, and Iceland started. He would definitely remember crossing paths with America so long ago, since he recalled what it was like to be Vinland through the fog of time. "Back then things were… complicated between us. Both of us were roaming the places we would eventually claim as our territory, with the Tribes adopting us as we went. We crossed paths most along the Great Lakes. Sometimes we would stay together, like the twins we are, for years at a time. We might stay with the same Tribe or wander between them, but sometimes we were inseparable. And then just as easily we might split up, and not see each other for years on end. Neither of us did much growing during all those centuries, though… and it alarmed the Tribes."

Again, America's face darkened. "But it alarmed them more when we started growing when England and France and Spain landed." Again, Iceland fidgeted, but instead of directing her ire at her colonizers verbally, America just shook her head. "The rest is history. I did the best I could, I think, with the guidance of the Tribes as well as England and Spain and France teaching me. The important thing is, I survived," she concluded, opening one of her palms and studying it thoughtfully. "And here I am…."

And here she was.

Iceland took another pause at that. Unless a nation did something particularly bombastic, most countries paid very little attention to the international goings-on. The Cold War had definitely shaken things up, in that regard. Before the modern era, Iceland recalled only vague snippets of hearing about America, from the upset at repelling an empire and becoming the first colony to ever claim independence from "his" colonizer, to a span of a couple years when "he" picked a fight with "his" brothers that ended in some sort of inconclusive draw, to the bloody years of civil war, with Denmark muttering about how it had barely been a century since "the boy" had come into his own nationhood. America was something distant back then, and Iceland had never had a reason to believe the obnoxious young man was his long-lost sister.

"-you?"

"Huh?" He started and found America glancing at him curiously.

"What about you? History accounts can only tell so much of our stories. After you had to leave, what happened to you?"

Now it was Iceland's turn to darken. "Vinland was suffering. New diseases would take down some of the men, if the harsh winters or skirmishes with Natives didn't. We had a hold on Greenland despite the population, but something was different about this continent… even though it seems the Tribes accepted both of you, we were driven out of Vinland by one particularly strong attack. Some of the Inuits who still had communication with Greenland's didn't like Denmark and retaliated against what they saw as more oppression. They'd been picking fights with Vinland on and off, and the rest of us weren't expecting a sudden charge. But when the fighting was over, most of the settlers were dead, and Vinland was gone. So we thought he'd perished in the night, and abondoned what we thought was a failed settlement."

America watched him tell the story with wide eyes. Though her brother was safe and sound and prosperous, she had no idea what could have happened to him back then when he was so young and vulnerable.

"At least, that's what the others think."

"Huh?" America looked confused.

This confession had never left the vault of Iceland's mind, not even whispered to himself in his most private moments. "The night before our defenses gave way and we decided we had to abandon Vinland, I took him away. The Tribes involved in the fighting tried to have me killed. Do you remember that doll you gave me?" he asked suddenly. America's eyes glazed over for a second before she nodded. It had been a small toy, crafted by her own hands, and she had loved it and played with it constantly until she gave it to Iceland to keep as a memento. "I surrendered that to them, and they recognized it. They sensed your aura about it and the influence of their southern brothers. They took it as a gesture of goodwill and I struck a bargain with them. We would leave the settlement to rot, but they would find a way to keep Vinland alive."

America's eyes glowed with a kind of awe. "You… you did that?"

Iceland huffed and looked away. "I wasn't… very fond of Vinland back then. But he was my brother. I couldn't just let him die."

Suddenly he was suffocating.

"Iceland, do you know what this means? You saved Canada!" America cheered, much too _loudly_ for his liking. "You're a certified hero, dude! Oh my god, you're the best!"

Iceland's cheeks busied themselves with turning into tomatoes, so before America could wake someone up with her enthusiasm or cause him to die of asphyxiation or giddy embarrassment or both, he grabbed her wrists and tried to pry her arms from around his chest and neck. It went about as well as expected, given her super-strength, but she relented after a long moment. Now mussed up by her sudden hero-worship and tackle-hug, he tried to straighten himself out and cool his cheeks. "Can I finish my story?" he said. The irritation in his voice was due only to his defensiveness, and not any amount of flustering.

America gauged his appearance for a second before an absolutely giddy smile bloomed on her face. She laughed, somewhat pink herself, and scratched the back of her head. "Haha, sure, Ice, go ahead."

Iceland tried to compose himself, but hugs from America were rather hard to recover from. He plowed on ahead, hoping his voice wouldn't warble overmuch. "That marked the end of our expansion west to the new continent. The Viking age continued for a while after that, and… geez. Denmark and Sweden's constant fighting defined a lot of our relationships for most of the time since then until about a century ago."

"Yeah…" America shrugged off her worries for Canada and sudden gratitude to Iceland, for the time being. "They're the European war champions."

Iceland snorted. "Even today. They mostly just wrestle, but they would get _into it_ back then. For years when Denmark and Sweden fought, the rest of us would be divided along certain lines. We spent… a lot of time fighting each other. And I, being the youngest and under Denmark's control… I was either constantly shielded, and kept in the dark, or ordered by Denmark to fight alongside him and Norway. Even when humans would argue that I was just a child," he finished dryly. "That caused a lot of complications. And then the time was World War II, and I couldn't have fought if I tried. Even Denmark had to submit. He understood when I declared independence from the Kingdom, then I was under Allied occupation, and… now we're here."

You know, glossing over the entirety of the Cold War.

For a few minutes they basked in the silence and let the crisp chill nip at their exposed faces, both caught up in their respective pasts.

In the end it was Iceland who broke the silence. "I guess I just feel like they'd be hurt that I never said anything, and then they couldn't trust me anymore…"

"… I mean, I guess I can see where _they_ were coming from, but I can see where _you're_ coming from," America shrugged. "They should be proud. This means you're responsible for me being so awesome like a Viking!" she cheered, and Iceland had to suppress horrific images of a Viking-era America going on raids with her super-strength and her Denmark-tendencies and her America-ness. _Oh gods._ "It was all so long ago. But, if you don't want to tell them, then I won't say anything."

Given how Nations operated, Iceland very much doubted he could keep this a secret for long now that everything was out in the open, and said as much. "I… guess I'll need to think about how I want them to find out," he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "This sucks."

"Well, it's not like you're on a time limit or anything. We have this whole meeting to get through, and we're going to play paintball again, and we have all this fun stuff to do like visit each other's houses before we go camping again this August! And even if things don't go the way they expect them to, they usually work out, right?"

That seemed to be true for America, at least… Although all of that stuff, save the meeting, sounded fun.

Maybe he did need to adopt a little bit of America's attitude that things would turn out all right in the end. Any Nation who'd ever been in desperate circumstances knew that hope could mean the difference between life and death. While America herself had never stood close to the precipice, the Cold War had brought them collectively closer to the edge than anyone cared to remember. What must she have thought during those weeks? Only thinking positively could have pushed her through…

They were family. They would accept him no matter what. He had to believe that. He breathed deeply.

"So… what do you think of me?" America asked out of nowhere. "Like, back then we were siblings. But my own relationship with like, England could have been parental or he could have been my older brother, but we don't really see each other as like, sibling-siblings anymore. Maybe something closer to cousins. And I don't think I could see you as a big brother anymore, even if we are bros," she grinned. Iceland huffed and scowled. Was she kidding?! After all that work he had to go through with Norway over him being older, and he was still older than America damn it-! It wasn't any fair that he looked younger. Seriously, what was the deal with that?!

He must have given away more of his frustration than he wanted because America backed down. "I'm seriously asking, dude. What do you consider me?" And he found that he had to consider carefully.

America was both the younger sister he'd raised a thousand years ago and the boisterous, largely-inconsiderate superpower and the premier player in the international arena, but worlds of differences separated the two of them. She no longer needed his guidance or his protection, and even if he'd felt the need to do either he knew full well that his efforts would be redundant to her own. She was the one protecting him, in all likelihood. No, he couldn't feel like she was his little sister, even if he now felt the fondness of knowing that he had helped her take her first steps in the world.

Perhaps a… fellow younger-sibling, of sorts? He had lived so long under the Vikings and Denmark, and she had not always been a superpower. All of the colonized nations had mixed feelings toward the Europeans who raised them. There was some gratitude, and resentment, and a grudging awe that was never acknowledged because even though those millennia-old nations wore the same style suits and lived just like the rest of them, they were still _Europa_ , and once they were titans. In a rose-tinted light one might think them immortals with strength and wisdom hearkening from a bygone age, in a Machiavellian sense all the colonized nations knew blood and money was the real currency that carried the sixteenth century zeitgeist. Eurasia, land of ancients, history, and so many mixed feelings. Iceland and America surely had much in common in that sense.

But they were also… friends.

They were family, it was true. But they went camping together and played video games together and got food and wasted days away even before these past months, and they had been _friends._ Neither especially close nor fair-weather, but a nice escape when some variety was needed. It had been a content equilibrium that these revelations would throw off, but it would bring them closer now.

"We're… family. And friends. Maybe sort of like how you and England might call yourselves cousin-friends." He growled. "Doesn't South Korea have a word for this?"

"Japan. Nakama, I think. It means something like friends through thick and thin, friends who are basically family. Not exactly us, but the closest thing I can think of." America grinned. "Maybe we'll need to come up with a name just for us?"

A word just for them… "I'm not good with names."

"We've got loads of time, nakama," she grinned. "And now that we've got that sorted out, how about a hug?" She held out her arms expectantly.

Never one for much physical interaction, Iceland hesitated. But only momentarily, because he hushed his inhibitions and actively entered the hug, feeling fluffier than he thought humanly decent. And warmer, and more complete.

Because after all, hugs from America were very nice.

* * *

End Chapter Eighteen  


* * *

1: A very long talk, in which they make the stepping stone from friends to nakama, and from there... heehee.

2: Apparently the Japanese "nakama" is sort of like the TvTropes entry "true companions" rather than "friends who are family", although apparently One Piece has been shifting the definition a bit. Either way, it's a close similarity to what Iceland and America have now.

3: Today is Lief Erikson Day, and in the U.S. tomorrow is Columbus Day, but I tried my best to gloss over the fact that History Is Often Not Nice. Still a good takeaway, though.

4: Iceland was the one who saved Canada. Hm... Dat foreshadowing tho.

5: "You know, glossing over the entirety of the Cold War." Probably my favorite line this entire chapter.

* * *

So, it's almost time for National Novel Writing Month again! And I am PUMPED. I'm not making promises, but since my writing will increase in the coming months it is less likely that I will leave this story alone for months at a time like I did over the summer.

If you're going to NaNo let me know! PLANTSERS UNITE!


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